


It's a Secret, Santa!

by Sevynlira



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Gaping, Anal Sex, BDSM, Bathroom Sex, Choking, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Come Eating, Dominance, Eating Disorders, Enemas, Food Kink, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Neck Kissing, Office, Oral Sex, Orgasm, Orgasm Delay, Panty Kink, Phone Sex, Rimming, Roughness, Slow Burn, Spit Kink, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 27,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sevynlira/pseuds/Sevynlira
Summary: Dean is forced to get into the holiday spirit at the office. I wonder what he will unwrap before the holiday season ends?





	1. Memo

**Author's Note:**

> I will be adding tags as I go!

The postcard sized memo shouldn’t have taken up the entire desk, but it seemed to keep crawling up through any stack of papers piled on it. First, he had pushed it beneath his stapler, but that was the worst idea ever. Within the first ten minutes of shuffling through his morning, there it was. Again. So he had re-housed it to a nice bungalow beneath his inbox. That should keep it out of sight. But the stubborn little card-that-could just wandered out to taunt him in the middle of a phone call. It was probably a coincidence that this particular phone call was with Charlie, the very person who had typed up the evil meandering memo. She must have conjured it up somehow through nefarious HR magic. That would explain everything. It could explain why in hell he had agreed to her schemes in the first place. She was obviously an office witch of some sort. 

Dean doesn’t sign up for “team building” efforts. Dean doesn’t sing company songs, or wear company shirts, or go on company picnics. He doesn’t do “trust falls” or join the bowling team. And he most certainly NEVER signs up for Secret Santa. Not ever. In the four years working for Sandover Enterprises, he had never for one moment considered participating in any of this silly nonsense. Besides, holidays were for family, not for awkward work acquaintances. The very idea of exchanging spice racks and tissue cozies with total strangers made him feel nauseated. 

Realizing that his attention had wandered, he snapped back to alert attendance when Charlie began to talk about the walking dead.

“….and I think they prefer eating the flesh of upper management more than us.” Charlie continued.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Dean interrupted.

“Oh, It’s about time you started listening to me,” Charlie cheerfully responded. “I was pretty sure you zoned out and was wondering how ridiculous this conversation would get before you noticed.” She sounded highly amused and her buckshot quick patter rattled right back onto the familiar friendly conversation that she had started with. She was relentlessly pestering everyone about the memo. Of course, unless you knew where this was going, you might think she was just being a friend. She was a friend who was mentioning his health. She was a friend who cared about his raging hangover. “Are you doing ok today, buddy? You really must be feeling it this morning! I was pretty sure that you and Canadian Whisky were gonna run off to Vegas together. Seriously, I need a woman to hold me like you cuddle your booze. I think you even quoted love poetry…“loving whomever is around to be loved”. It was pretty deep, Kemo-sabe."

“It is Vonnegut, you uncultured menace” Dean shot back grumpily. “And isn’t “”kemo-sabe”” racist?”

“Is it!? I mean, it’s a movie thing? I dunno. I will have to ask the internet later. HEY wait a minute. You are trying to distract me! No. There will be no distracting. You, Dean Winchester, are going to fill out the Secret Santa card and have it on my desk by the end of today because you are a losing loser that loses at drunken wagers. Don’t even think about wiggling out of it. You got that?”

Dean sighed pitifully. He put on his softest most pathetic voice and even tried offering her those amazing garlic rye chips that she was addicted to. She wouldn’t budge. Not even a little. He was doomed to participate in the Secret Santa whether he liked it or not. Damnit.


	2. Looking sharp

Castiel shoved the bulky length of his trench coat into the narrow locker with a frustrated grunt. Whoever designed these things, didn’t take into account that SOME people need room for a backpack, sweatshirt, bicycle helmet, dress shoes, winter coat, shoehorn, mirror, bottle of lotion (he has dry skin in the winter, don’t judge!). Castiel didn’t have a car and so he had to dress warmly for the bus stop and strip layers before starting his shift.

It had absolutely nothing to do with wanting to look neat when he walked by a certain green eyed co-worker’s office. Not at all. He kept the leather shoe care kit in there just because he enjoyed the nostalgic charm of having freshly buffed shoes. Well, maybe it was because he had already played out a scenario in his head that involved Dean Winchester noticing his shiny shoes and striking up a scintillating shoe buffing conversation. He was an idiot. That was the lamest stretch for meaningful connection ever. But he still wedged his damp snow flecked boots into the tight space. Carefully, he shoehorned his shiny leather work shoes onto his socked foot and mentally berated himself for not just giving in and opening more space in his locker by dropping the silly notion of looking his very best every single day. 

Nobody cared. Nobody HAD cared for a very long time. It wasn’t that he was unattractive. If anything, that was the problem. He managed to completely crank up the libido of players and sweethearts of all sorts. And then they got to know him. Something about him seemed to make people leave. There were a few theories out there for why this might be. Gabriel, his long suffering brother, said it was his tendency to be SERIOUS™. His best friend, Balthazar posited that is was probably his tendency to be PICKY™. Who knows? Maybe they were right. Maybe he thought too much about the deeper end of the relationship pool. Maybe he weighed his words a little too much and maybe he wanted to feel something big and important happening just once. But real life isn’t like that. Real life is so many mundane moments marching into the void and why wouldn’t everyone just feel the weight of it like he does? Why can everyone else be so casual and light and funny when all that dullness just keeps bearing us all down to the grave? Is it all just going to be more of this greyness? Why should it be? Being SERIOUS™ and being PICKY™ are actually tangled up together inside of Castiel. You can’t just go to some bar and get laid when something hugely important and big might explode onto the horizon and drench the entire world with light and hope. He wasn’t capable of settling for less. So he was forever SERIOUS™ and PICKY™ and alone. 

Maybe he would have been able to change, to just drop his guard and laugh more and enjoy casual flings if it wasn’t for the constant reminder that there is something big and hugely important that exists in this world. But that reminder is a living breathing human being and can’t possibly be forgotten. Not by Castiel. There is something so bright and enormous just right at the edge of his world. There is a wild wondrous dream that won’t let Castiel go. He can’t stop being PICKY as long as every single man he meets cannot make him feel that enormous hope that he feels just existing in the room Dean is in. He can’t stop being SERIOUS as long as that realm of breathless possibility shines just outside of his reach. 

He should quit. He should get laid. He is, in a word, pathetic. Two and a half years of pining. It isn’t getting any better. It’s downright depressing. 

With this inner haranguing lecture dogging his psyche, Castiel turns to the bank of inboxes along the corridor. Nestled inside of his box is a cheerful Christmas themed envelope labeled 

“Secret Santa- your eyes only. Or else!”. 

It was impossible to read the playful threat without hearing it in Charlie’s voice and Castiel smiled. He had signed up for this office gift swap because Charlie was awesome and always trying to make the office bright and it wouldn’t be difficult to pick up little gifts. Its not like he has anything else to be doing! His life wasn’t a raging party, after all. Sliding his thumbnail beneath the pac-man santa sticker, (of course its pac-man santa. Charlie never disappointed) he slips the postcard out of the envelope and immediately feels the entire universe spin to a halt. The neat block text handwriting said clearly at the top “DEAN WINCHESTER". Detailed below it was a list. Castiel barely read it through the haze of his impending heart attack. Something big and important was going to happen. Finally.


	3. Lullaby

Five months ago

Castiel lifted his bike over the threshold and steps leading into the side entrance of the Sandover building. Normally, biking out for lunch was just too much, but he had felt restless for hours. The August heat rising from the pavement should have made him reconsider or at least pause, but instead, he had taken a long lunch. A luxurious two hours because he deserved it. The entire office had been stretching to hit deadline for weeks and weeks. Now they all snapped back from the tension like rubber bands and Castiel could feel his enthusiasm for work needing a good dose of relaxation. Everyone was feeling celebratory and the office was mostly empty as everyone lazily trickled back in at their leisure. Of course, most of his coworkers had cars, so he was the only one that was nuts enough to sweat his way to the café and haul his bike up three flights of stairs to store it. Charlie was kind enough to let him drag it up the stairwell from the back entrance and stow it in a storage space. Which was nice because some days he biked to work and took the bus home. Leaving it overnight and not having to stress about it being stolen or damaged was a real perk. Charlie really was the best. 

He sweated and burned his way through lunch and now was clattering up the back stairwell with his bike lifted into his arms, taking the stairs with distracted powerful strides. He was mentally preparing to dive back into his afternoon pining session. The ride had been cathartic and distracting enough to tamp down the energy that buzzed beneath his skin. His body had firmly decided to remind him that Dean shared this office and it was either work out or dive into the bathroom and take matters into his wide tight fist. It had been too many days of pathetically biting back his whimpers in his workplace bathroom for fucks sake. It was humiliating and it was nice to have the workload ease off enough to give him the freedom to get out and hammer back his body with a punishing pace on the bike. He felt good. Soaked in clean sweat loose limbed and ready to work. 

After reaching the second floor landing, Castiel paused for a moment. He settled his bike against the wall and tipped his water bottle up to his lips, enjoying the gentle waft of air-conditioned comfort in the stairwell. A loud bang of a door slamming open two flights up alerted him that somebody else had joined him. He was about to resume his march upward when a choked gasping sob echoed down the concrete walls. Freezing in place, he immediately knew that the person escaping into the stairwell wanted privacy. How awkward. He should reveal his presence right away so that this poor guy could go cry somewhere else. And it was a guy. The soft desperate sounds were unmistakably male and they caught in a low groan that sounded vaguely familiar. 

Just as he was about to make a super loud clattering pickup of his bike to alert the guy, he heard the man softly speak. Fuck. Fucking shit fuck. It was Dean fucking Winchester sobbing in the goddamn stairwell. He would know that voice anywhere. Even if it did sound completely wrecked with sorrow. 

Castiel almost fell over in his haste to silence himself totally. He froze from head to foot in abject terror. What the hell was he going to do? He willed himself to clutch his water bottle even tighter, scenarios of dropping it, clattering and banging down the stairs and alerting Dean that he had been standing there, raced through his head. Here he was creepy listening and lurking just beneath the stairs like a stalking weirdo. Fuck! 

After about thirty seconds of total meltdown, Castiel heard Dean begin to talk again around hitching hiccups. No, wait, it was singing. Castiel held his breath to hear it better. The lyrics broke and stumbled over cracking gasps and tight whimpers as Dean dragged his sorrows from his chest. Eventually they steadied into a quiet rendition of “Hey Jude" by the Beatles. 

Castiel felt his own chest burn as he covered his mouth in sympathy for the aching pain that poured down the stairwell. The gates of his heart pumped frantically to spill upward and knocked wetly over his lashes. His throat clenched sore against the rising need to cry out from the ache of it. He could only tremble helplessly. Standing by, feeling his fluttering pulse race and clenching his water bottle instead of reaching out for the man above. It hurt. It hurt worse than when he had broken his foot. There were no words for this fresh wound. Somebody or something had ripped open the heart of that bright soul and Castiel was left helpless to do anything about it. 

Dean always carried this young sweet joy around with him. The lines beside his bright eyes clenched around so many smiles that they lingered in the wings in readiness for his next happy grin. He constantly dragged answering joy from everyone he met. His unserious jokes and the way he even made a comedy of his body made him magnetic. It was irresistible. 

Castiel was not the only one who saw Dean drawing amusement out of the smallest mundane parts of life. 

Like the time he had found a cowboy hat. 

For a solid week, everyone had to hold back giggles as Dean used finger guns and liberal amounts of swagger and called everyone “pardner”. 

It was infectious and completely unbearably attractive to Castiel. He was always so trapped in his thoughts and unfailingly SERIOUS. It felt like being dipped in light to share a smile with Dean. It was a relief to feel the heaviness roll away from his skin. There was a lightness of being that felt so freeing and it was so easy for Dean. Castiel had meditated and took yoga and went to therapy to relieve the weight of his psych. Dean just winged one flirty wink and some stupid joke about not apologizing for loving Dory the fish and Castiel felt his chest loosen and his own answering joy spilling out of his mouth and infatuated eyes. 

Somebody or something had crushed away that joy today. The agony in every whispered line of the song turned it into a funeral dirge. The impossibly cheerful man had inverted his being and was lying exposed and leaking on the stairs. 

After endless torturous minutes, the limping lyrics finally stumbled to a quiet sob that released one final throb of pain before Dean sniffed hard. He made a last mumbled moan as he wiped his face and between one moment and the next, swiveled onto his feet and back out of the stairwell. 

Castiel was alone again. His entire body trembled for a full minute more before he managed to scrape his dignity together and lift his bike again. What had happened? He would do anything in his power to fix this. Anything. He would rip down the gates of hell and crush every wicked force that would hurt Dean. He would bring any enemy to its bloody end if he had to. There was no end to his need to heal this wound and he would find a way. No matter what. Fixed on this screaming demand, he straightened his tight shoulders and resumed his day. Nothing outwardly had changed. He still burned his days and nights beneath the weight of his own shy longing. But now he lived as a quiet flaming sentinel at the gates of Dean’s happiness. Daring any to touch the heart of that garden. Waiting to cut down those who had trespassed and razed the joy that bloomed so wild within. He didn’t forget his oath. He didn’t waver in his focus. He had unwittingly witnessed a private war. And quietly, with iron resolve, he arrayed for battle.


	4. Vinyl

It was Friday. Secret Santa day. The first Friday of December and every Friday between now and Christmas was going to be filled with cringey attempts at this stupid gift exchange. Dean dreaded it. 

His distaste wasn’t even logical. He had drawn one of the easiest names in the entire office. Kevin Tran was a giant nerd and all Dean had to do is think of four things his little brother would like and be done with it. He had gotten off to a bad start though. He had tried to wrap it. The Star Wars gift mug had stubbornly grown weird edges and curves and the wrapping paper had contorted and convulsed until the entire mess looked like a deformed lump of Christmas puke. His hands turned into giant stiff paws and he may or may not have screamed at the fucking thing. He ripped the paper off and stuck a damn bow on it. 

There. 

Whatever. 

Fuck it. 

It was a shitty stupid gift for a shitty stupid office thing so whatever. He was gonna drop it off in Charlie’s office and forget about it for another week. 

Thank fuck. Kevin was probably going to laugh at the dumb gift anyway. 

The relief that he felt after dropping off the gift swung lightness back into his bowlegged jaunt to the breakroom. Maybe he could bump into Cas and make him blush again. 

The man was painfully shy and it always made Dean feel warm to draw the guy out into his games. Everyone seemed to not notice the introverted mail clerk. Unless it was about packages or sorting bins, Dean had never seen anyone interact with Castiel. Which was a freaking shame. Cas was primo top shelf perfection. Yin to his Yang. There was nobody on this planet that was better suited to rimshot his quips at. He was so responsive! The cheezier the joke, the brighter those blue eyes shone for him. And if Dean tipped a flirting wink, the man radiated with blushing fumbling awkwardness until he could dash to escape. 

It was fucking adorable and made Dean feel powerful and amazed every single time. He sometimes held onto new jokes just so he could unleash them with Castiel in the room. He could watch that frowning solemn serious face collapse into a half smile and listen to the deep chesty thunder of his laugh and feel the well of satisfaction zing home. 

Hell yeah, score! 

Quiet serious Cas had laughed. Actually laughed. 

At his Darth Vader impression. Or his Lord of the Rings joke. 

It was exactly the audience he craved. Castiel didn’t relentlessly giggle at his every word. There were lots of people who obviously liked him and couldn’t stop giggling once they started. That was annoying. It didn’t feel earned. And then there were those who rolled their eyes in dismissal. Like he was an unamusing child. The condescending dismissal hurt more than it should sometimes. He was no kid. Yeah, he was goofy sometimes. But having a giant stick up the ass wasn’t the answer. That much he was pretty sure of. Cas was serious but not so serious that he got his panties in a wad over Dean’s antics. 

As for the response to his flirting, that was the cherry on top. Dean always had to step lightly when wiggling his eyebrows meaningfully at other men. It had landed his ass in trouble plenty. But then the coffee disaster had happened and Dean was pretty sure that beautifully shy Castiel was interested in men. So Dean had let his flirty attention brush a pink flush into Castiel’s cheeks once or twice. Just to see if it was as satisfying as hearing his restrained laughter. 

It was. 

So responsive. 

The man lit up like a fucking beacon and Dean couldn’t stop smiling even just remembering how Cas darted about like a trapped moth. How his hands shook and he stumbled or dropped things and ran away the second he could. Dean wasn’t so vain to think this shy man was acting in any way unique to just himself. He had seen Cas blush and trip and stutter through company meetings and when other men had passed him in the hall. He was just quiet like that. Just held tightly within his own world and Dean looked forward to getting another crack at it. 

He was already grinning in anticipation when he bumped into Charlie in the hallway outside of the breakroom. 

“Oh Dean! Here is your gift!” she handed him a very flat package. It was wrapped in black matte wrapping paper with a gold bow. It was obviously a vinyl record. Nothing else would be that shape and weight. He hadn’t put vinyl on the list at all. He didn’t even think of vinyl because surely it broke the 10 dollar purchase limit. Scraping his blunt nails over the paper until it caught, he stripped the record to reveal the cover. His breath caught in his chest. In his hand was the 1982 re-release vinyl of the single “Hey Jude". 

There was a grimy sticker on the corner of the sleeve proclaiming his gift to be worth 7 bucks. So it was under the price point. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered why the fuck he was thinking about that while his chest burned and Charlie just watched him stare silently at the gift. He was four years old again. His entire body flushed with fever and a cool palm smoothed his sweat soaked hair. The tender twisting melody of this song ran through his heart and the shock of feeling that lay exposed punched up into his throat. He looked up at Charlie helplessly and immediately needed to get away. 

Hide somewhere. 

In the break room. 

Ducking quickly into the warmer coffee scented room, Dean pressed his back to the door. Barring anyone else from intruding just yet. He needed a moment. 

Lifting the album to his chest, he tucked it beneath his chin and held his own biceps tightly. Trying to press the emotion back into his chest and get his shit together. Deep breath. Another. Ok. It was going to be ok. His face will stop looking totally wrecked and his chest will stop hurting and he is going to get on with work. 

Opening his eyes slowly, he caught movement. Fuck. Directly across the room stood a stunned wide-eyed Castiel. His coffee cup clenched in one fist and a coffee stirrer dripping from his other hand down onto the tiled floor. Dean Winchester stared wordlessly in horror at how exposed and raw he had been right in front of the other man. The look on Castiel’s face said that he had noticed. He had seen it. All of it. It was Dean’s turn to feel his entire body flush bright red. His embarrassment flared so suddenly that he almost swayed into a weak kneed swoon. What was happening? Dean Winchester doesn’t swoon! 

Lashes fluttering with humiliation, Dean turns his face away from the open blue eyed stare. He hopes silently that Cas will just allow him to gather his shit for just a moment so that he can fake laugh and get out of this room somehow. But he isn’t that lucky. Instead there is only the blistering bubble of silence that shatters with a single word. 

“Dean" 

Castiel's voice is always a low gritty rumble, but now there is a husky sweet command that laces his tone. He isn’t going to let this all go. Castiel isn't going to let Dean throw up his defenses and make a joke and slip out of here unscathed. Dean chances a bold glance at Cas and is immediately drowning in the wide blue ocean of his gaze. Castiel stares. Openly. Dean fights to not squirm or bury his face away from the intensity of those eyes. There is no shyness in this deep blue examination. Castiel takes his time tracing every inch of Deans face, pinning his eyes whenever they try to escape. Stepping closer, his chin tips down and shoulders brace wider and wild hot energy slams into Dean’s chest. 

This frank appraisal isn’t how a friend looks at another. It isn’t how his family or his lovers have gazed at him in compassion and love. This look was stripping raw before him. Exposing his throat to bite it. The hunger raging behind those eyes was one step from feral. The naked intimacy rose like a shivering wave and Dean felt his skin tighten in goosebumps. 

What the fuck was happening? 

One moment he had been sucked into a well of private pain and grief. Now he was shivering beneath the breathtaking power of a single long look from his incredibly shy coworker. What was happening? 

Whatever it was, his body was 100% on board. His skin felt so alive that it might catch fire any minute. And his cock had noticed too. More than noticed. The edge of his zipper teethed his cockhead as he swelled behind it painfully and the sting only made this moment better. What in fuck is happening? 

Both men flinch when a sharp rap on the break room door glass interrupts their staring match. 

Turning around in relief, Dean releases his held breath and punches out that fake laugh. He lets in the chattering crowd of morning shift workers and takes his opportunity to stumble away. 

Racing for his office, he dumps the record onto the chair against the wall and slumps into his seat behind the desk. What in all of seven hells was that? 

Replaying every moment, he gets stuck on an infinite loop that keeps replaying the total dominant roll of Castiel’s shoulders and the knowing tip of his head. It was like somebody had twisted the face of a puzzle cube and everything fell into a completely new pattern. Every single thing that Dean had known about the man was completely rearranged. If they had not been interrupted, there is no doubt that Cas would have demanded more from Dean. What if he had stepped forward? Crowded him into that door and asked for a kiss? 

Rubbing his hands over his face, Dean hunches forward and groans softly at the punishment his half hard dick takes from the position. His brain is apparently on a one way track and so it conjures up Castiel's face. And instead of his hair being simply messy, his brain went ahead and pictured fingers pushing through it to make it thoroughly fucked out looking bed-head. Sex hair. Soft and dark and framing his angel face. So serious always. But the plush frown might part for his tongue, if he just….what the fuck is happening? 

Holy fuck. 

One hot look and Dean is about to have to deal with his erection. And that is just ridiculous. How many people have looked at Dean in a hungry way? Lots. That’s how many. Maybe hundreds. But how many of them held their bodies like a waiting tiger? How many of them were lean and hard and had that heavy rumbling thunder voice rolling inside their chest? What was going on? 

Nothing had happened. It was one hungry look after two years of working together. It was a fluke. He had just been feeling extra vulnerable because of that damn album. 

Hey wait a minute. The album. His Secret Santa. Somehow, they knew. He had clearly put rock music on the list. Nobody, absolutely nobody knew about his mother soothing him with that song. How did they magically land on that exact album? Blind luck? No way. There is no such thing as coincidence and whoever told this person something that private was gonna have hell to pay. There are only a few humans that are still breathing that know about it and he is gonna start at the top of the list. Sammy. 

He was dogged and relentless. And he needed to be distracted from the other matter at hand. Before it got out of hand. That was just a fluke. A glitch in the matrix induced by weird angst ridden memories and probably not even that intense for Castiel. He hadn’t been the one riding an emotional freight train to the party. So yeah. Best to forget it. He needed to go shave Sammy’s head for telling his fucking coworkers about family secrets.


	5. guillotine

Castiel dreaded returning to work. Nobody could fear the guillotine more than Castiel feared having to see Dean on Monday morning. 

Sure, get the man his favorite tune. Why not? 

Oh yeah, that’s right. 

It’s going to paint Dean's face with longing and tender feelings. Buying him that record is going to wrap his strong arms around it like cradling his secret light. He is going to duck into that break room with every wild inch of his soul exposed and it’s going to imprint his open need on the back of your eyelids. 

Castiel, you wont be able to ever close your eyes without seeing that soft open spring gaze. 

His cradling pose will make your body ache for his strong arms forever. 

The longing of last week is a ghostly imitation of the raging flame that beats behind your ribs now. 

And how much had he seen? How much had Castiel handed over to Dean in that moment? 

Only everything. 

The hounding howl of his every day craving scented the hot blood of Dean’s vulnerability and simply, pounced. Every dominant shred of hunger sprang to full life. In between one breath and the next, Castiel had felt his body slam to full arousal. 

No warning, no teasing. 

All he could hear over the ringing in his ears was 

“Dean" Dean DeanDeanDean. 

Did he say that outloud? Maybe? 

He just needed one more look at those green eyes and there they were again. Only Dean was softly returning the desire with his own bright gaze. He looked surprised, yes, confusion was mixed there, but he had a building warmth there too. It wasn’t just him! He wasn’t alone in his quiet longing. Dean was still holding his eyes and not turning away! 

The pulse of staggering hope drove Castiel even harder, flayed his restraint even further as a torrent of his need chanted “Mine. All mine.” 

He would have him here. 

Now. 

He would take him on the table there. Ruck his pants down those slender hips and taste his hole first. Yes. Tongue his clenching rim until he screams my name. 

Mine. 

The banging crash of knuckles against the glass was the rudest awakening ever. What the fuck was happening? His entire body was wound tight as a spring and Dean leapt away like startled prey. 

Castiel simply blinked at the blank space where Dean had been and tried not to whimper at how rock hard he was. He couldn’t even move an inch and it was by some miracle of heaven that the distracted herd of interns didn’t notice his raging boner. Fuck. He was so fucked. 

And now, just thinking back on the moment had him reliving the erection too. Great. How was he supposed to look the man in the eye ever again? 

“Hello, Dean. Im here to deliver your mail in my trenchcoat. Why? To hide my raging hardon because apparently I cant even see you hold a gift from me without mentally having you on the nearest flat surface. What’s that? You never want to see me again? I don’t fucking blame you. So long! I’m going to just walk into traffic now.” 

It wasn’t like that at all. Dean breezed into the office and stepped right back into that comfortable warm groove in Castiel's life. He didn’t mention the break room. There weren’t any awkward explanations or moments. Castiel was terrified of meeting his gaze of course. And every time they shared an empty room, Castiel ran away like the chicken shit he was. 

But slowly, his shoulders began to relax as Dean shoved chopsticks into his lips to look like a walrus. It was impossible not to laugh. Things were back to how they had always been. 

Until Thursday afternoon. 

Dean was heading out to the parking garage, keys in hand. He slid past Castiel in the hallway and turned to walk backward. 

“Well Cas, not for nothing, but the last person who looked at me like that, I got laid" 

Cas was immediately incapable of breathing. His mouth kept trying to make words and his entire body flushed as red as it had ever been. Dean looked absolutely delighted with this development and winked before turning around and letting Cas watch his bowlegged stride right out the door. 

“See ya tomorrow Cas!” Tomorrow was Secret Santa day. Fuck.


	6. Thin

Five months ago

Dean began to slowly slip at work. He was distracted during meetings and restlessly losing track of the goals and details that he had always excelled at. And he lost weight. 

Castiel began to mentally tally the meals that flowed into Dean’s office and it wasn’t looking good. A tall shaker of some questionable green gunk took the place of greasy burgers. Castiel missed the hungry Dean. He missed the sparking green flare of joy that he would have just talking about bacon. A scale appeared in his office. Free weights also wandered into Dean's space. It was all somehow linked. The stairwell tears and this sudden personality flip had something to do with each other. 

Dean had always looked good to Castiel, but the sunken dark circles that framed his pretty eyes were enough to make everyone worry. He looked tired. All the time. His joy had fled as the pounds slid away from his arms and thighs. 

Castiel saw it all. Dean was being carved out of the space he occupied and what he left behind was a shell. 

A haunted thing. 

And something about it rang a bell. Clear and loud. Castiel knew what this was. 

It was a demon. Oh sure. Demons don’t really exist. But there are some human beings that twist the hearts of good men. They wring them out until the quivering husk that is left cannot fend for itself. Castiel knew this one. He had sworn on that day as he suffered those tears that he would find the cause and rip it from its roots. And now, he had a name. 

Alistair. 

Alistair was a cancer that sucked the life out of good people. Good people like Dean. Good people like his brother Gabriel. Alistair hovered in the wings of kink clubs and gay hangouts and just waited for the next pretty smile he could wipe away. 

He claimed his fetish was foodplay and portion control. He claimed to like making his submissives or boyfriends work out and get sleek sexy bodies. But it was more than that. He pushed it further. He emotionally abused his lovers through constant body shaming until they couldn’t stand to eat. He deprived them of sleep and had them working out for hours every day. It was a power play and sick as they come. He hadn’t put anyone in the hospital yet, but it was a matter of time. 

Starting today, Castiel was going to rain hell on his parade. It was beyond personal. Gabriel had slipped away but still struggled with bingeing and negative self image. If Alistair was in town, his days of even sharing oxygen with Dean Winchester were numbered. 

Feeling only the smallest tinge of guilt, Castiel stalked Dean for two nights before catching sight of Alistair. Confirmation. There he was. Cas felt like he might implode with the sheer force of his hatred when Dean leaned close to say something to the man. Instead, Cas called Charlie. 

He had considered the very best way to completely crush this inhuman fuck. His first stop was to go to the queen. The queen of the internet. Hands down, the best woman for the job. He spilled the entire horrible truth and the angry gleam in her dark eyes just got sharper and sharper. 

First, she began to look into Dean’s online life. It was spare, but Alistair had been there already. He was cutting Dean away from social hangouts and groups and meetups. He openly slandered Deans character and called him a “needy cockwhore who spreads for anyone" and “I heard Dean Winchester raped his last boyfriend. Do not invite". The vitriol was everywhere and Castiel wondered which one of these comments had sent him crying to that stairwell. All of them together? Or did one wicked thrust just cut his heart in two? Did he want to even know? How deep did this torture go? Would Dean be able to walk away from this ok? 

His head was reeling with all these questions and every one of them dug another furrow of worry into his forehead. Charlie worked for hours. Blocking and reporting and scrubbing as best as she could. They ordered pizza and she began the offense. They began to call every club. They sent emails to every connection they could dig up. They gave Alistair no safe haven for his sick games. 

They knew that he would keep Dean in the dark about his unmasking. All Castiel needed to do was wait. He made sure to drop his name with every informed club. Made sure to stamp Alistair’s disgrace with his boot prints. 

Two weeks was all it took. Castiel went front and center to the biggest gay club in the city and it was as predictable and pathetic as it had been the first time Castiel had put Alistair in the hospital. Maybe he hadn’t been put behind bars. Maybe he hadn't really paid for his sins. But he did have to breathe through a tube for a few months because Castiel had crushed his windpipe while wiping the floor with his ass. 

He got away lightly. 

And Castiel had warned him. 

The fuckhead hadn’t listened and was back for more. 

It turned out not to be needed at all. The queen had fished up a handy tip about a warrant and Alistair was packed away while Cas quietly waved goodbye. 

It was over. Alistair was gone. Dean would find his way back to joy again. Cas had faith in him. 

And slowly, he did. The dark bruises beneath his eyes faded. His thick wrists lost the slender threat of hunger. His joking pranks begin to lift the heavy air and Castiel could breathe again.


	7. Burger and fries

It was Friday. Secret Santa day. 

Castiel was seated across from Dean at a burger joint just a few blocks from work. He seemed to be relieved that his gift this week hadn’t been quite so terrifying. It was just a coupon for this massive bacon burger and that suited Dean just fine. 

“Man, I’m glad I spotted ya over there. I am gonna need official documentation on how I murder this burger. Make sure you catch my good side.” Dean angles his face and smolders for the imaginary camera. Castiel huffs a soft laugh at his antics and shakes his head as the waitress delivers the goods. 

As Dean dives into his feast with shining eyes, Cas cant possibly look away. Sure, it wasn’t exactly sexy. More like disturbing and a little bit impressive. But somebody had told this beautiful man that he was less than good enough. Alistair had tried to take this away from Dean. He had broken into the gates of Dean’s regard and began to destroy that precious light that lives within. 

Castiel steals a fry from his plate and Dean winks before taking a slow sip of soda. Cas turns red as if it were scripted and the swelling joy of Deans true laughter fills the entire restaurant. 

Several heads turn and Cas feels his heart thrum with pride to be sitting with the most beautiful man in the room. 

He had to come. He couldn’t have given this gift and not watched him shine like this. He was lost to Dean Winchester, he always had been, always would be. Pulling out his phone, he captures the moment. Dean with his face half stuffed with food and his bright eyes looking like Christmas morning. 

Dean grumps about the unflattering shot and steals his phone to take half a dozen selfies before pulling Cas around the table. 

“C'mere Cas. Lets get one together!” 

The phone clicks the shot and Cas pulls away reluctantly. He turns his eyes up to Dean, expecting to get his phone back. Instead, the phone clicks again and Dean teases him for turning too soon. 

Later that night, Cas flips through the pictures and there is Dean. He can still feel his arm pulling him close. The picture shows more than Castiel had realized. His face turned up to gaze at Dean is stamped with love. No one looking at that image could miss it. 

Had Dean noticed?


	8. telephone

Dean had noticed. Hell, every single beautiful twitch the man made seemed to be designed for Dean to notice. 

The Secret Santa gift had been a flat out dead end. He had interrogated every person who could possibly know! It was simply a baffling mystery and not nearly enough to distract him from that other matter. 

The Cas matter had become maddening. At times it was like some hallucination or figment. But when he turned it over and over in his mind, he couldn’t dismiss what he had clearly seen. But it was only a single hot stare, so its not like he could begin building daydreams around what exactly that starving look had promised. 

Could he? 

Apparently he could. 

Apparently he could keep looking for reasons to bump into Cas. He could fabricate tasks and come up with elaborate ploys to try to figure it all out. It was suddenly the most interesting thing in his day. 

They kept taking turns looking at each other’s face. It was an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t risk getting caught up in that stare. Every time one of them caught the edge of a glance, they would bounce their eyes away. Dean was absolutely floored by how often he caught Cas at it. Had he been looking at Dean that much before? 

Dean wasn’t going to mention it. He really tried not to. The fluke and the matrix and the album it was all settled. Right? But Thursday completely broke his resolve. There were too many questions. He wanted for Cas to be comfortable around him. He liked the easy way they fit together but Cas kept staring. He kept wearing pants that held his thick thighs tighter than they should. He kept moving those slender strong fingers around coffee cups and mail and pens. His hair kept being a wild mess. Those shoulders kept flexing and stretching his shirts. It was making Dean feel on edge. What if that stare just was a big fat misunderstanding? He had to mention it. He tried six times. Seven. Ok eight. Every time he was about to say ,“hey um Cas, lets talk about what happened in the break room.” The words got stuck. He got more and more frustrated. He procrastinated until the very last minute of the day. He was even holding his keys so he could beat a hasty retreat. 

Of course, instead of the long winded and thoughtful adult conversation he should have had, he only quipped some flirty observation about staring and getting laid and Cas turned about 50 shades of red. Ughh. It didn’t answer anything. Except maybe it meant that stare really happened? Fuck. He really sucked at this. 

Friday wasn’t any better. They were stuck in some hellish holding pattern and pretending the burger place was a date wasn’t healthy. Not when the other guy has no idea. 

Why was he like this? 

Why couldn’t he just stop joking and playing long enough to actually talk? His brother always called him “emotionally constipated" and maybe Sam was right. He just didn’t want to stop the fun and relaxation somewhere in the middle and make it awkward and serious. He didn’t want Cas to laugh at him. 

Or leave. 

Or both. Fuck. 

The weekend stretched out for an eternity. He cleaned his house and thought about those blue eyes. He could call him! Dean flipped out his phone and stared at it with disbelief. He didn’t have his number. How had he never managed to get his number? They were friends. For two years. Why hadn’t he ever asked for his number? Why was he just noticing that he didn’t have it? Why did the weekend seem too long to be away from Cas? He knew why. It still seemed like his world had just flipped inside out. 

He could call Charlie. 

He didn’t even give himself the chance to chicken out before she was on the line. 

“Dean, are you there? Hello?” His mouth had gone dry and he hadn’t even planned what to say. 

“Uhm, Charlie. Uh. This was a bad idea. Never mind.” 

“My mind reading powers seem to be on the fritz Dean. What was a bad idea?” 

Before he could change his mind, he blurted, “Hey, do you have Castiel’s phone number?” 

“Yes, of course I have his number. Do you need to get in touch with him?” 

An immediate warmth spread across his chest. Maybe this was not a bad idea after all. “Yeah, I need to give him a call. What's his number?” 

“Dean, I will have to ask him if its ok for me to give out his phone number. I am the HR director and I can’t just throw around employees phone numbers. You know that. So I’ll just give him a call and see if its ok. Ok?” 

Dean almost died right there on the spot. No. It wasn’t ok! Holy shit. He hadn't thought this through at all. Of course she would have to call Castiel and get permission. He just imagined the conversation with Charlie telling Cas that he had asked her for his number. “W-what. No. No it’s fine. Now that I think about it, it can wait. I'll just . Uhm. Its fine. Thanks Charlie.” He hung up the phone and threw it onto the couch like it was on fire. Fuck. He was losing his fucking mind. What in hell was he even thinking? 

He was going to give himself a good long moment to kick his own ass and then he was gonna get his head back on straight. This was just stupid. All of it. 

Before he was done kicking himself, the phone rang. Absently, he answered without even looking at the screen. 

A familiar rumbling voice was on the line. 

“Hello, Dean. Charlie told me that you wanted to speak to me?” 

All Dean could do was stutter, “y-Yeah. I. Uh.” 

“It’s ok Dean. You don’t have to say anything. I know why you wanted to call me. I miss you too.” Dean swallowed and felt his pulse jump. 

“Are you alone Dean?” It was such a loaded question. The intention behind it was completely clear. It was up to him right now and the edgy thrill of leaping right into this moment made Dean’s answer sound as breathless as he felt. “yes.” 

“Good boy. Have you been thinking about me?” 

“yes" 

Castiel’s answer to that was a low soft growling moan and Dean knew that if he had been standing, he would have fallen over. He was already tenting his sweatpants. From a ten second conversation and one low hungry moan. Castiel was going to kill him. 

“I am going to make you show me what you do to yourself when you think about me, Dean. Some other time. 

But right now you get to say two things to me. You can say yes….or no. 

You are already doing so good. So good for me.” The end of Castiel's words ended on a broken soft gasp. He was obviously pleasuring himself during that last bit. 

“Do you understand?” his words snapped back to that rolling heavy thunder of total command. 

“yes" His hands were shaking as he tried to keep holding the phone. 

“Dean, do you want me to keep talking to you like this?” 

“yes.” 

“are you at home?” 

“yes" 

“will you go to your bedroom for me? Lie down for me in the bed?” 

“yes" 

“Dean, you keep saying yes to me. It’s so fucking good. My skin is hot. I’m shaking. I want you.” Cas drops the last sentence in such a low register that the phone vibrates against his face. “Dean, you are so beautiful. Will you take your clothes off for me?” 

“yes" Dean almost whines as he peels his teeshirt and sweats away from his skin. He is loathe to take the phone away from his ear even for a second. 

“You keep watching me, Dean. Everywhere I turned seemed to have you right there. Do you like what you see?” 

“yes.” The admission is embarrassing and it makes him squirm to answer. But there seems to be some spell at work and he is way too turned on to not answer. 

“You said yes for me again. Fuck. There are so many things I want you to say yes to. Would you like to hear about some of those things, Dean?” 

“yes” Dean’s voice is sounding hoarse and wrecked already. 

“Will you touch your cock for me while I tell you what I want from you?” 

“yes" 

“I want you to say yes to me the very first time I undress you. I want to taste you saying yes against my mouth, Dean. I want to hear you saying yes when I ask you to get on your knees for me. Fuck. Dean! I’m barely holding on here. Is your cock hard for me?” 

“yesss" The answer is less language and more clenched teeth and groaning. Castiel had given him no warning, no warm up, no way to guess this was coming. He hadn’t made Dean confess or talk this out. He just knew. He just reached inside the secret craving heart of what Dean wanted and forced it right out into the open. The last ten minutes had already been the hottest of his life, and Cas hadn’t laid a hand on him yet. 

“I want you to say yes when I hold you down. Pin your arms and fuck your perfect mouth. Do you have lube, Dean?” 

“Y-yes” 

“Get the bottle for me. Slick your hand up. I want you to feel so good. Can you do that?” 

“Yes” Dean obeyed. His prick was flushed almost purple and was filling well beyond half hard. It stood thick and heavy in his slick hand as he jacked himself with eyes squeezed tight. Focusing on the gritty roll of that beautiful voice and seeing nothing but blue eyes. All over him. Watching while he did this. 

“So fucking good for me, Dean. I can hear your wet hand over the phone. Fuck. You are jacking it so hard and fast. Are you close? 

“YES!” Dean barks his answer as a hard exhalation followed by a long succession of soft rythmic “ungh-augh-ahh” that he would have been embarrassed to know he was making. 

“Can you slow down for me, baby? Hold on, gorgeous. I won't make you wait long. Just take your hand off if you need to.” 

Dean didn’t manage to remember to say yes to Castiel’s command but instead made a choked distressed noise followed by a little annoyed moan. 

The completely pleased laugh that tumbled through the phone let Dean know that he hadn’t gotten away with his huffy rebellious noise. Castiel had heard him whining and was laughing at his distress. “I know, I’m so mean. Poor Dean Winchester, all wound up and sprawled out naked and hard on the bed. It’s just a terrible shame, isn’t it? 

Dean’s head had cleared enough for him to answer the rhetorical question. “Yes” He managed to make it sound so pouty and put out, that it tugged another one of those deep sexy laughs from Castiel. He could almost see the broad grin on his face. He never wanted this phone call to end. 

“I just don’t want this call to end so soon.” Castiel said, and it was so close to Dean’s thoughts that he almost said something before he remembered his role in all of this. 

“Will you touch your chest for me, Dean?” 

“yes” 

Cas can hear this single thrumming note of sensual promise in Dean’s last answer. He was saying so much more than yes, every single time. Sometimes it was a demand for more. Sometimes it was a promise like this one. Like he was swearing some oath. Like he was committing himself to Castiel. It was so fucking heady. Like drinking six shots in a row. The full driving force of desire slammed back into his chest, even though he had cooled them both only seconds ago. He had never experienced intimacy with somebody who could give this much. So soon. So ready. Maybe Dean had no idea what he was doing, but they didn’t seem to need much more than a few minutes on the phone. Dean shoved so much power right at Cas that it made him feel so goddamn high. The reckless wild craving that lived inside of Cas wasn’t going to starve here. There was more than enough to satisfy. 

“Do you like to touch your nipples, Dean? Are they as responsive as the rest of you?” 

The hungry groan that Dean made was enough to make Cas curse. “fuck. oh fuck. Dean! I’m trying to make this so good for you. I am so...fuck. You sound so good. You make me fucking crazy, Dean Winchester. I have wanted you too long. I can’t. Fuck. I’m..Please. Dean, touch yourself! I’m so fucking hot. So hard. I can’t…” 

Cas is completely reduced to babbling, and the soft urgent sounds of his breath turned into one long deep rolling groan. 

Listening to Castiel lose every shred of control was doing all kinds of things to Dean. That beautiful deep rolling voice was crying out his name and it was enough to have him catching right up with him. He threw his bicep over his mouth and screamed into it so that he could hear every confession that Cas spilled as he came. His slick palm squeezed hard and he abused his dick with rough treatment. Raw grunts ripped from his core and he almost folded in half with the swift hard wave of his own orgasm. 

“Cas!” He exhaled the name in a sobbing shout as spurt after spurt of cum jetted over and through his fist. 

Whimpering with each convulsing wave of pleasure, he rolled onto his side and passed out for a long moment. His mind completely blanked and his phone forgotten on the mattress. 

When he finally recovered enough to pick up the phone, he started to speak, “Cas. I..Cas.” 

“shhh gorgeous. Thank you for letting me talk to you, Dean. I will see you Monday. ok?” 

The line was dead. Cas was gone.


	9. Incident

Four months ago

There is still a fragility that lives inside of Dean. Castiel has watched him carefully crawl out of the shadow of his ordeal with Alistair. Something lingers though, and he works longer and longer hours. Cas has already invaded his private life and personal business but he feels the concern for Dean digging furrows into his brows. Sure, the weight is coming back and he is cracking his jokes. Cas wishes they were friends so that he could talk with him. Take on some of the burden of recovery from this mess. As it is, he can’t even tell him that he knows anything about his situation. It’s so frustrating. He only has work and all the intimacy that passing each other in a hallway provides. He wasn’t going to get any closer than that anytime soon. Dean was keeping everyone at a distance. 

What could he do to help? 

So Cas kept thinking about it. Day and night. And then one day, Epiphany struck! Dean carried a tall paper cup from Epiphany coffee house just down the street. 

“That coffee is really good!” Castiel commented just for the sake of speaking to his crush. 

“Yeah, they are a friggin godsend. My sleep is shit. If it wasn’t for my vitamin C every day, I might just not make it.” Dean wiggled the cup with a smile and made his way back to his office. 

Castiel went into the breakroom and picked up a bag of the crappy brew that they always had in there. Some bulk brand that was basically sludge. hmmm. He nodded to himself, that was going to change. 

First up, Charlie’s office! 

It took lots of puppy eyes and promises, but he managed to convince Charlie that putting more money into the breakroom coffee budget really would improve morale. And local brew is supporting the community! They REALLY should try to get Epiphany coffee to supply them. Charlie seemed a little bit surprised by how passionate he had suddenly become over the coffee, but hey, some folks are real caffeine addicts. And truthfully, even Charlie would enjoy having something besides toilet water to start the day. And Cas had promised to do all the hard work. He knew the monthly price they could pay and he was going to have to set the entire thing up. Including the vendor contract and delivery schedule. He promised not to add more work onto Charlie’s already massive workload. She felt pretty sure that whatever bug had gotten up Cas’ butt about this would reveal itself in time. 

It took four mornings to catch the owner on shift. Each morning he had shown up early with his proposal and contract and each time, the baristas had told him that she kept random hours and her dog had been sick and she was trying to get in “sometime this week”. Feeling that it would be rude to not buy some coffee, he ended up hanging around a bit and getting to know the staff and watching out for the elusive manager. 

She wasn’t at all what he had expected for such a sunny welcoming coffee shop. The curvy brunette could have been a bartender for a biker bar, or a loan shark at a dog track. She certainly didn’t give off sunny rays of welcoming, coffee scented warmth. He must have been staring in his surprise, because she immediately called him out on it. 

“Take a picture, blue-eyes, it will last longer” she quipped. 

Of course, he blushed and the brash brunette laughed quietly at his flustered face. 

“Don’t tell me you are the man who has been waiting to meet with me for four mornings. If they had told me you were this adorable, I would have made a point to be here. What can I do for you, angel?” 

Eager for this meeting to go well, he ignored the flirting and got right to the point. He brought out his most winning smile and showed her all of the mutual benefit of having the coffee service upgraded at his office. And if Meg touched his knee more than was absolutely necessary and if she sat way too close, he had the feeling it was her personality. She wasn’t exactly the girl next door and she really wasn’t being offensive or out of line. He really did want it to work out and if anything, the warmth coming from the owner was encouraging. She told him that they hadn’t ever done anything like that, so she would have to meet with the roast master and make sure they could hold enough stock. She said they would have to meet again before she could possibly agree. 

She managed to get three more meetings. It was always some small obstacle or question she had. 

And her neckline seemed to get lower every time he saw her. 

Maybe it was his imagination. 

Until that fateful day. The one that shall forever be known as “the coffee incident”. Some little rumor had been circling around the office. 

That wasn’t anything new. 

What WAS new, were the winks and nudges that skittered around the office when the very first coffee delivery truck pulled up in front of the glass doors. Something was very wrong with today. Especially when the owner of the coffee shop, herself, was the one unloading onto the hand truck and backing her black leather pant clad ass into the glass. Quiet giggles and knowing looks were thrown Castiel’s way as he moved to intercept the delivery and lead the woman back to the break room. 

Slowly, Castiel worked over this entire scenario in his head. He had hung out at the coffee shop for two weeks and kept meeting with the owner. Fuck, he had met her “over dinner”, hadn’t he. Fuck. And now, everyone in the office apparently thinks he was craving more than the coffee. Maybe he had arranged this little delivery service every month so that he could sample the delicious dark roast that was sauntering in front of him. Even Charlie probably thought from the beginning that he was harboring some crush on the barista. 

He felt like his face was going to crack as it froze into a horrible rictus of dawning panic. What if Dean had heard the rumor? 

They rounded the corner and sure enough, Dean gave him a sly thumbs up as they slid past his office. He was going to die. How much sick time did he have accumulated? Could he just call in dead? 

Everyone miraculously disappeared the minute they made it into the break room. Suddenly everyone had something else to do. He was going to have to explain everyone acting so ridiculous. Hopefully Meg would understand and it was all going to be ok. 

It wasn’t going to be ok. 

Because suddenly her soft body was pressed up against his chest and she was sharing her lipstick with him. The shock of the moment, coming only minutes after him working any of this situation out, was enough to keep him completely frozen until she noticed. 

She was about to back away and start asking questions. 

He didn’t know what he was going to say. 

So he panicked and dove back into the kiss just so that he could think a few more seconds and work out what in hell he was going to do. It was exactly the opposite of what he should have done, because when he was finished with her, she looked like somebody had thoroughly debauched her from head to toe. Her lipstick was smeared, her hair was tousled. And the look in her eyes was predatory as fuck. 

He might have squeaked in pure terror. His arm shot out to try to grab at napkins to help her clean up her face at least, so maybe his entire office wouldn’t totally misunderstand this whole episode. Instead, he knocked over a french press that was sitting on the counter and it shattered. Terrible cheap coffee exploded everywhere and added to the chaos. 

His brain was broken. 

He couldn’t think of a single way to get out of this room. 

So he just blurted. “ I’m gay” and then walked straight out of the room. 

Charlie almost laughed herself silly when she finally managed to blackmail him into telling her. She had to let him hide in her office for the rest of the week. He had a sneaking suspicion that the entire thing was Charlie’s fault in the first place because who else knew he was setting up the coffee contract? But he had no choice but to reach a truce with the queen. She did have a safe haven away from all the giggles and mentions of the infamous“coffee incident”. 

He had only wanted to make those soft lines beside Dean’s eyes relax. He wanted him to find warmth and comfort. Wanted to see him touch his lips to the cup and feel Castiel’s care and compassion for what he needs. Instead, the whole office had a riotous story about him coming out after lip-locking a passionate barista. 

Well it could be worse. 

Dean could have witnessed the entire thing. 

It’s a small comfort. 

_Present day ___

____

Cas carefully wraps the matte black paper around the brand new french press. It was a cheap one, under the purchase price for Secret Santa. Meg had gotten him a discount from her supplier. He had broken Dean's that day. Had it been four months ago? Already? He had managed to have a real conversation with Meg after that disastrous day. She had been thoroughly amused by the entire thing and had been amazingly cool about it. She had actually become a real friend. One of the scary kind who will help you hide a body. He is lucky to know her, after all. 

Four months. 

His mind turns for the millionth time to that phone call. Every single self doubt that could rise has already become well known litanies of defeatism. Why didn't he let Dean talk? Was he just trying to avoid hearing things he doesn't want to hear? Hope keeps repeating the raw sound of Dean saying "yes" over and over. And again, he is convinced. It was not his imagination or his own mind playing some game. He invited Dean pretty forcefully but his need was answered in kind. What if Dean was just "kissing him back" like Castiel had pressed into Meg that day? What if he just didn't know how to respond and had just gone along with it? What if this was another coffee incident? This wasn't a silly office rumor. It wasn't some imaginary crush. He would have his answers by the time of the office party. No matter what the answer was. He had decided. 

Nodding to himself, he slips the precious gift into his messenger bag and pushes the entire situation out of his mind. 

for now.


	10. Yes

When you spend as much time being SERIOUS™ as Castiel does, you tend to bump into other SERIOUS™ people and a lot of them have written giant tomes about the inner world of people like him. The inner world can get a little bit overwhelming. For instance, if you happen to be sharing a room with a potted plant. You might know, as Cas does, that your perception of the plant is merely a composite of every single time you have met one in the past before. You aren’t really experiencing the plant as it really is. Its actually impossible to. Because your brain fills in the gaps with overlays of other green things and the rustle of past leaves and stems. Your memory of those things paints a recursive translation of the thing in front of you and who is to even say what the real plant really is? Sure, the object is supposedly really there. But since we only experience it through our senses, how can we trust that? Maybe it's just some bright hallucination! So yeah, that is just in the room with a presumably innocuous bit of foliage. 

Being in a room with people infinitely complicates everything. 

This is a thinking being who is seeing their imaginary you while you are seeing an imaginary them. What if both of you are totally wrong? No wonder there are so many misunderstandings! It's all a giant tangle. Completely endlessly recursive as we keep acting and reacting to the version of them we think we see. It’s enough to freeze Castiel into place and make him feel like his chest is going to explode. 

Except with Dean. 

It’s so different with him. Cas couldn’t have ever imagined a being like him in a million years. Had never met anyone like him. So his brain couldn’t fill in the gaps with assumptions because it always went blank around him. He couldn’t assume anything because he was too busy taking in every new glint of light through his lashes. It was all new information and dazzling and impossible to guess at. There was no time to feel that cognitive dissonance that assumptions ring into the bell of the thinking mind. Before he could doubt his perception, there was something new to see and feel. Before he could react, there would already be a fresh bout of new experience to surprise him. It was so astonishing for somebody like him. To be surprised and overwhelmed and constantly given a bounty of information like some endless well. He could stand beside Dean Winchester every day and feel something new every moment. For somebody so endlessly hungry for something to soak his SERIOUS™ mind, it was addictive. 

Dean could swing his hips to some unheard melody and Castiel would completely forget to feel unsure. He would forget to analyse and doubt and agonize. He simply reacted in the moment and it felt like flying. 

It was a gift and a relief for somebody to shove him outside of his inner world and just let him feel without dissecting it a million ways and doubting himself every minute. He had plenty of time to think about that feeling. 

It was everything. 

Dean was so far outside of every single person he had ever met, he could trust what he was seeing. He really was that stunning. He was that kind and funny. It wasn’t wishful thinking, or projection, or some recursive past craving that Castiel was laying over the truth of Dean. He was constantly guessing wrong. He was often totally floored and confused and put onto his back foot. If anything, Castiel would have cast a much less perfect person to hold his fantasies. He couldn’t doubt how real Dean was, because of how ridiculously unreal Castiel kept finding him. His pessimistic and pragmatic mind was constantly baffled. 

He wanted to show Dean exactly what that was like. Even just once. Completely surprise and baffle the guy. He knew his own image. The one that other people held inside of their perception of what Castiel is. 

Shy. 

Sweet. 

Undemanding. 

The projection isn't offensive. It isn’t even wrong. 

Not really. 

However, every heart holds multitudes and he really wanted to press his hands against every single assumption that Dean has about him and push. Hard. It was payback. Revenge of sorts. If he was always going to feel out of breath and overwhelmed, he was going to do the same to Dean. He was predictable really, and he wasn’t going to start acting out of character. But the moment to completely drive a shocking new revelation of his secret self right into Dean’s face was brilliantly handed to him. So easily. Just pick up the phone and dial. Catch Dean on his back foot. Take his breath away and more. Show him a hidden face that isn’t at all expected. 

Of course, now he has to share an office with the man. 

The man who insists on saying 

“Yes, Cas” as much as he can. 

Every chance he can. 

When Castiel asks him if he wants his mail in his inbox, he has to endure that rich honey voice saying, 

“Yes...Cas.” 

Should he include him in that email? 

“Yes, Cas”. 

Did he enjoy his lunch? 

“Yes” 

It was like walking into the sweetest tension of his entire adult life. It was only lunch on Wednesday and it wasn’t at all unpredictable or unexpected or surprising. It was complete system meltdown. He couldn’t analyse or freak out or anticipate because he could barely make his legs work. They both knew it would happen again. How many times was Dean going to risk saying “yes” before Castiel ripped past his careful softness and took what he wanted? 

Dean was daring him. 

Twice more, he found a way to say “yes” to Cas. This last time was about attending some meeting and Cas only heard that honey promise drop from Dean’s lips before his mind melted into static. 

Castiel shook his head like he was laughing at himself for being so damn caught up in this sweet game. His smile broke all the way into his shining blue eyes and his nose scrunched in the way that Dean had often acted a complete silly fool to get a glimpse of. 

“Dean Winchester.” He said it like it was a complete world of meaning. 

“Yes, Cas?” Dean arched his brow as if he was actually asking a question this time and it was all in total innocence. 

Cas actually tensed from the impact of Dean saying it again. Closing his eyes for a second to catch his breath. 

“Dean, go upstairs to the fourth floor men’s restroom. I’ll meet you there. If I catch you getting ahead of me while you wait, I am going to make you regret it. You have a twenty minute space in your schedule. I checked. Yeah. I know. Go on. You are killing me. Hurry.”


	11. Tryst

Dean had never been stopped so many times on the way to the bathroom in his entire life. It seemed like suddenly there were people just coming out of the blue to have a chat. Why now? His heart was hammering and his mouth was dry. He couldn't think of a single coherent word to banter with his coworkers. He felt like he was going to fly apart with anticipation and frustration. Thankfully that antsy fidget translated pretty well to a desperate need to relieve himself. So he managed to finally wend his way through the busy building to the hallway stairs that he took at a solid sprint. 

Dean could barely breathe by the time he hauled himself into the empty washroom. He glances at his own flushed face in the mirror and waves his palm under the spigot to stir the faucet to life. He makes a point not to meet his own eyes as he bends over the sink because it might make him even more nervous. The cool splash of water over his overheated skin is a relief though and calms his fidgeting hands. He had only managed to straighten just as the door eased open and closed behind Castiel. 

This washroom was the double stall bathroom the company had installed with accessibility and family use in mind. It had a lock. A lock that just snicked into place and ensured them at least some privacy. 

They were alone. 

That was new. 

Had Castiel always been so big? His shoulders seemed much broader standing in this small room within touching distance. Speaking of touching. That would be really amazing just about now. He hadn't had that pleasure yet. The pleasure of touching Castiel yet. Oh yeah, his hands were still dripping. His face too. He was just standing like a dumbass dripping all over the place. But he couldn't seem to move. Which was ok because Cas was moving for them both. Stepping closer. Invading Deans personal space and stealing all his breath by tipping those eyes up to drown his. 

Castiel took in the impossible beauty of Dean’s eyes framed with wet spiked lashes and his freckle dusted cheeks flushed and dripping. This was every craving he had. Standing right here distilled down into that droplet that flings from the edge of his nose. It takes its time gathering and pooling until it breaches the crest of his lips and trembles there waiting. Cas licks his own lips and stares at that drop and almost loses his goddamn mind. 

“say it again, Dean” he says as he flicks his eyes back up and away from that mouth. 

“yes, Cas” Dean answers in a surprisingly steady rumble. 

“May I kiss you Dean?” 

“yes.” 

“May I suck the water from your skin?” 

“yes” 

“May I hold your arms still against the wall while I do?” 

Dean's eyelashes flutter and his breath catches at the last question. “yes” 

“May I touch you, Dean? With my hands?” 

“yes. Please..Cas” 

“Im almost done asking Dean. Almost. I think I could listen to you saying yes to me all day though. Can I touch you beneath your clothes? With my hands?” His eyes are heavy lidded but calm as he asks quietly. 

“what the fuck Cas. I'm dying here. Yes.” 

“and beneath your clothes with my mouth, Dean?” 

Dean was almost rocking onto his tiptoes with the agony of this deliberate completely thorough description of exactly what was about to happen. No one in his entire sexual history had managed to stand within touching distance and just keep standing there while taking him apart with words first. Castiel hadn't so much as kissed him and already Dean was discussing his mouth against undressed skin. “yes. Fuck. Yes” 

“Dean will you to tell me to stop if you need me to?” 

“yyyeess” Dean almost whines his answer as he openly squirms in embarrassment. 

Then Castiel was on him. The description paled against the reality. His warm dry hands were cupping Dean's cool damp face and his mouth was dusting against his with soft eager swoops to gather the wetness there. He had expected some wild bathroom frenzy when he had come in here. This was a completely different kind of wildness. Every inch of Castiel that eased against Dean was so good that he felt he might die of the pleasure of it. But Castiel held them both so perfectly balanced between soft lush pleasure and hedonistic frenzy. 

They tipped there for long sweet minutes as Cas pressed his lean body tighter and tighter against Dean. Wrapping himself inside the wealth of this deepening kiss without a single concern for rushing or moving anything along. Dean forgot his eagerness too, as Cas spun the languid kiss out into tight little sucking bites of his lips. His thumbs rub the arch of Dean's cheekbones to gather stray droplets as he dips his tongue inside to taste him deeper. 

Dean smells impossibly good. 

His skin has a completely indescribable sweetness that Cas wants to rub his nose into. 

His clothes, his hair, it all smells like heaven. His mouth tastes as good as he smells. 

Sliding his hand lower, his thumb rubs against Dean's adam's apple and the way that he trembles and groans is enough to tell Cas that his throat is sensitive. All the ways that thrills his dick are just too many to name. It doesnt stop his mind from selecting plenty. Kissing and sucking and biting and pressing and maybe even choking that throat all flips through his mind at breathtaking speed. But Dean had not agreed to any of that so slamming him tightly into the wall and pressing his arms up high while sucking the water from the stubble at his jawline. Oh yeah. That will do just fine. 

There seems to be a steady keening moan that echoes along the tiles and Cas snaps back into the moment to realize those sounds are pouring out of Dean. Somewhere in the haze he had used his hand, the one that wasn't pinning Dean, to draw his muscled thigh up and open wide for Cas to rut between. His stiff cock was getting cloth burns inside his pants where he rode hard against the long wedge of Dean’s bulge and the inner curve of his hip. Cas sucks in a shuddering hot breath against Dean's keening throat and slows the fuck down. Holy shit. He has probably bruised Dean’s wrist. So he kisses and licks it in apology as he draws back from the hungry rutting and lowers their hands. 

Lacing his fingers through Dean’s, he reaches with his empty hand to ruck the dress shirt and undershirt from his slacks. His fingers graceful as they splay against bare skin. Dean takes initiative and reaches to unbutton his shirt to reveal yet another shirt. Cas huffs in frustration and digs his blunt nails into that warm skin and watches his hand glide beneath the tee. He finds the edge of one beaded nipple with his thumb and Dean lifts their linked hands to his neck to gather Cas close again. 

“You taste like cinnamon Cas. So good.” Dean leads the kiss this time and tenderness blooms as he opens his mouth to breathe Cas in. The stamp of possession lives in Castiel's demanding body but the responsive sensuality that flickers wet and opening within Dean is his drugging feast. The fine tremors that spill along his skin rock deeper too and the rumbling quake has him shivering against Castiel’s exploring hands. He loses the plot at some point and breaks the kiss to drop his head back against the wall. All Cas is doing is running one wide warm palm over his chest and he is lost to it. Trembling and using the wall to even keep standing. 

It is absolutely stunning. 

Impossible. 

The punch of power drives directly into the center of Cas. This beautiful man is completely wrecked with the smallest effort from the stunned Dominant. Just a few minutes of pretty heavy horny petting and this is his answering salvo. It's everything. Why the fuck did he think a bathroom make-out session was going to sate anything? Because so far, it has only dumped napalm on this wildfire. He isn't going to get enough of Dean right here. 

Fuck. 

He might not ever get enough of this man. 

There is a desperate sounding whimper in the air and unfortunately it came from Cas. 

Dean licks his lips and blinks sleepily from his stupor and grins knowingly at Cas. He knows exactly what he is doing to the man. “you doing ok Cas?” he smirks and his green eyes shine with playfulness. 

“I am not sure. What are you doing to me Dean?” 

That serious tone and completely Castiel answer makes Dean laugh and the tension in the room melts. 

“who me? I am just doing what I'm told.” the cheeky flirting innocence of the answer cranks another painful twitch from below the belt and Cas makes that hurting desperate noise again. 

Cas blushes. 

Dean grins and winks. It's so goddamn familiar and set into this new context. So perfect. 

“Hey big guy, let me help you out here.” Dean murmurs and brushes the back of his fingers over the straining tent in Castiel's pants. “may I?” 

“Touch me Dean” Cas breathes the command as if he wasn't just dancing the edge of his own control. 

“Yes, Sir. I’m on it” Dean happily answers and before Cas can even gasp properly, his pants are splayed open and his heavy dick is jutting up into Dean’s clever hands. 

“I dont…”Cas groans “I don't think you are...ohhh fuck...on my cock Dean. But when..when I do get you on it...nnnghh..I plan on making it very clear. To save you...fuck..all this confusion” 

Dean chuckles against his throat and nips with his teeth. “I'm liking the sounds of these plans you have Cas.You really should tell me all about them. Especially the ones involving this fat cock. Gonna save me with it? Fuck. So goddamn hard. You are wet too.” he pinches the head gently and gathers the slick drooling mess of precum into his fingertips. 

Cas resumes his own heady exploration of Dean’s body by lifting the thin undershirt high enough to expose all the tan expanse of his chest and belly. Dipping his head to taste him earns a mumbling curse. Dean’s free hand sweeps into his hair to hold him close and Cas takes it as encouragement to leave wet sucking bites all along the meat of his smooth pecs. When he reaches the stiff bud of a flat nipple, Dean forgets that he was driving Cas crazy and his fingers restlessly clench and grip his hip instead. 

Sensing the switch in focus, Cas flattens his tongue over the tiny pinch of flesh and reaches for the waistband of Dean's pants. Delving his slender fingers into the trapped heat there and tugging, unzipping. He is spreading his hand and the waistband until the pants sag off Dean’s narrow hips. Raking his teeth over that sensitive nipple causes the stiff flesh in his hand to twitch and he rewards the reaction by pressing his fist into a tight tunnel and then even tighter. 

He squeezes harder than one would imagine for a first introduction. It's absolutely perfect. Dean almost howls with pleasure. The powerful fist gripping him tight feels like it rips something loose in his chest. He is nothing but clawing need. 

Castiel is being rough. 

He is twisting and pulling at Dean's cock with brutal efficiency. 

It isn't the shy fluttering touch of so many that have touched him. The fumbling athletic pawing of others. This is Castiel's perfect graceful hand taking him so tightly and roughly yanking long hot strokes of pure need from the core of him. Its like his hand is molten and slick ropes of pleasure are being pulled from the edge of where those teeth are rubbing all the way to his dick. The vibrating quake of pleasure has him totally lost again. For the second time in ten minutes. He is held up by the wall and the hard press of Castiel who has found his throat now. Fuck. Hot breath and teeth and murmurs of encouragement rock his head back to loll weakly as Cas continues to abuse his shaft with wicked perfection. 

Castiel was so right about Dean’s throat. He squirms and pants and makes the most delicious moans from even the slightest nuzzle or nip against his neck. Cas opens his mouth wide against his pulse and drags his tongue over that sweet skin. It draws a low stuttering gasp from Dean and his hands tighten on Castiel’s hip and hair where he hangs on for dear life. The pleasure is relentless and Cas doesn’t let up for a second. He drags Dean to right to the edge faster than he had ever been and then shoves him over it. Dean bites his lip against the shout of surprise as orgasm hits like a truck. His lower half tries to jackknife as thick spasms of cum spike up his dick. Every pulsing jet sends scalding shocks of pleasure pain shooting all the way from his toes to the weeping slit of his cock where Cas keeps wringing him dry. The wave of heat that pours from his skin has both of them sweating and trembling as he gulps for air and the remains of his coherence. 

His brain really must be melted because already it was happily making plans for that to happen again. 

Immediately. 

Which would be completely impossible and ridiculous and what the fuck had Castiel done to him? He was exactly three seconds from the tail end of the hottest orgasm in recent memory and already was jonesing for more. He laughed at his wild thoughts and pressed his face into the soft hair against his cheek. So fucking good. 

Cas ransacked the hand towel dispenser and did a rough and ready clean up for them both as Dean was still dozey and pliant. It was fucking adorable and the lazy lopsided smile that he kept beaming at Cas was making him feel like his heart might be slamming as hard as Dean’s had been. 

“Cmon gorgeous. You have to get back to work” Cas zips and tucks and straightens Dean back into some semblance of professional. 

Dean chuckles, and finally seems to slide out of his compliant haze. “wait...hey...Cas. You didn’t..” He glances meaningfully downward. 

Cas licks his fingertips and catches the scent and flavor of Dean's skin and cum on his fingers even after the hasty cleanup effort. “I got what I wanted.” He states softly and rolls those heavenly eyes back up at Dean. 

It knocks any sensible reply right out of Dean’s mouth. He is completely speechless and finds himself unceremoniously pushed out of the bathroom while Cas laughs softly. 

He is still standing there long after Cas has made his own way back to the tasks of the day.


	12. Secrets

It was Thursday, tomorrow would be the big Christmas party where everyone would reveal their secret santa and for some reason Charlie kept lurking outside of Dean’s office. 

The first two times she passed by could have been a coincidence but after the fourth or fifth time he had spotted that brilliant mane of hair ducking around the corner, he was pretty sure she was hovering. 

“Hey Charlie, why don't you just come inside my office and lurk instead of the ninja act huh?” Charlie jumped like he had goosed her. The guilty look on her face was en par with harboring international fugitives though. 

So he had to ask.“What’s on your mind? Do I need to get my scavengers daughter out?” 

The inside joke brightens her face a bit. 

“That's the last time I take you anywhere Winchester, our perfectly civilized museum visit all spent in the medieval torture room. You barbarian.” 

“It was friggin cool. Admit it! Besides, now I have many skills to make you talk. So spill, before it gets ugly” Dean playfully menaces her with a grim face before relaxing back into his casual fidgeting. 

“Uhm...well. I sorta did something.” she admits, reluctantly. Her face winces down just thinking of her terrible deed. 

“Well you are going to have to be a little bit more specific, Charlie. What did you do?” 

“You’re not gonna like it.” 

“Ok. Charlie. You are starting to make me nervous. What did you do? Am I going to be helping you bury a laptop or something? What did you do?” 

Charlie smiles weakly at the non-sequitur and takes a long breath before diving into her most recent terrible secret. “Well at first, I was just using my sorting algorithm to randomly assign project Secret Santa. Oh you should see the gui I built for it! It has a little animated reindeer and...uhm…” she squirmed in her chair. Then, as if she had just given herself a mental pep talk, she nodded to herself and then blurted the rest all in one breath. “I saw Cas was signed up and cheated the entire system and made him your Secret Santa” she winces again and pastes a “forgive me?” smile on her face. 

“Wait what? Cas? Uh...but isn't it supposed to be a secret? Why are you telling me?” Dean begins to feel restless and stands. Crossing his arms and leaning back on the desk in a listening posture. 

“Well...because..I did it for a reason. I think he likes you. I just thought, it could be a way to strike up some conversation. But then I saw his face every time he dropped off a gift in my office and now I’m worried I did the wrong thing. Those gifts…” she trails off and her brow is furrowed with worry over this. She is really upset, he can tell. Why would she be this invested in a silly hookup attempt using office present exchanges? Something wasn’t adding up. 

“Wait, so why do you think he likes me? What gave you that idea?” 

“Well lots of reasons, but the coffee thing for sure!” 

“what coffee thing?” 

“You do know that he was the one who set up the coffee service right?” 

“Sure, he wanted to date that hot barista right?” 

“No he didn’t. You didn't hear about him shouting he was gay and running away?” 

“Oh. Right. Yikes. I just never thought about it really. Maybe he wanted better coffee than that gross shit.” Dean shrugs. 

“Dean, he saw you drinking that brand and wanted you to be happy. So he busted his ass for two weeks and got manhandled by a horny barista for you.” 

Dean might have blushed just then. He probably would deny it to the grave but Charlie was still distracted enough not to notice. If a Winchester blushes and nobody sees it? Does it count? Nope. 

“So the french press…” he begins and doesn't know how to end. Thankfully Charlie can sometimes read minds and she nods silently. 

“There is more.” she admits in a much smaller voice than normal. “You are really not going to like it.” 

“ok. So. What?” 

“uhm...he may have known about Alistair and got him thrown in jail?” she says this as if it's actually a question. 

Dean's earlier blush drains completely away. In fact, every drop of color slides away from his face and he is speechless for a long moment. He takes a breath. Two. 

“what?” 

“It’s not as bad as you think!” she quickly interjects and flails her hands toward him. “Really. I swear. He wasn't like, stalking you or anything. He has a brother that used to see Alistair and he just. Uhm. Knew. So. And actually it was me that technically got him put in jail. So it was more a team effort. We...we...w.” she gives up at this point because his expression has gone full dark. 

“Charlie. You thought this was ok? That it…. That it was some video game? Achievement unlocked. Unscrew Dean Winchester's life? It's not ok. Charlie. You know what friends do when they are concerned? Huh? They come to your door and talk about it! Goddamnit Charlie. You know better. You ARE better. Fuck. And Cas? Hell, I don’t even know the man but apparently he knows every goddamn…” Dean fights for breath and feels the raw heat of shame riding his skin. He can't do this. 

“I’m done. 

This conversation is done. 

I'm going home. And you can take your Secret Santa bullshit and shove it up your ass.” Dean yanks his leather jacket from the stand and storms out the door. 

Charlie sits dejected in his office for a long while. “Merry Christmas, Charlie” she says to herself under her breath.


	13. Brotherly

Dean grips the steering wheel so tightly that his fingertips tingle with blood loss. He had lit out of the parking lot like he was being chased by demons and he might as well have been. He hadn’t thought about Alistair for months. Now the looming spectre of his own private hell is right back in his face.

**_20 years ago_ **

“Knees up Dean. C'mon boy. Don't be a pussy. Just one more mile. Stop crying.” His father jogs ahead, somehow able to keep from slipping on the icy sidewalk. John doesn’t even notice it and Dean keeps slipping and feeling his heart trip up into his throat. He is terrified of falling. His last broken fingers made it really hard to get dressed and make food.

Personal discipline was core to the heart of being a Winchester. You clean up your own shit. You do your PT time. Hydrate, Hygiene, and watch out for Sammy. It was simple. Only it wasn't. Everything kept getting harder. Money kept slipping away and it was damn hard to get rack time when your stomach is eating itself. This fifth mile was straining every single atom of his body. He could feel his stomach howling and his knees screaming. It was going to kill him. He just knew it. He hoped Sammy would be ok.

His face hit the pavement, ice digging into his cheekbone. “Dean, having a good nap down there?” His father’s disappointed tone slams into his gut worse than the hollow wail of hunger. He is exhausted. The thought of just giving up and sleeping right here sounds so good that he almost cries with relief. His father catches the glint of tears at the corner of his eyes. He sighs with long-suffering frustration and shakes his head. “Ok son, I will meet you back at the Motel. It's only a block. ” 

When he finally drags himself back to the shithole Motel, his father is making pancakes. The shame swelling in his throat pushes so tight that he feels like he has swallowed a baseball. He was weak. He fucked up. And now his Dad can't even look at him. It was simple. Why couldn’t he even get simple things right?

**_Present Day_ **

“Knees up Dean. C’mon boy. Don’t be a pussy. Just one more mile. Stop crying.” Alistair had hit the notes pitch perfect. It was the sickest most obvious bullshit ever. To have some Daddy issues and work them out with yet another fucked up bastard. It was typical. Dean hadn’t even noticed until that howling in his belly felt like his father’s fist punching home. What kind of man is that weak? Looking for a pat on the head and a hug for running a mile? ten miles? What if he pushed really hard and got fifteen? More?

It hadn’t started out that way, of course. Having a guy around that appreciated Dean’s body. The workouts were good. Building a good sweat really got the blood flowing and made things hella hot in bed. But then there was this little soft round inch on his belly that Alistair kept mentioning. He talked about hard men in the same way his Dad did. Men that achieve. They have focus in life. They keep things simple. Hygiene, Hydrate, and take care of shit like a man does. He just needed to tighten his belt a little bit. Trim up. Stop wasting his energy on slacking off with friends. Actually, just cut out those distractions completely. And slowly, Alistair was everything. The plate got emptier and emptier and that howl just got louder. Rack time almost disappeared.

He could almost feel the ice on his cheek.

Could almost smell the pancakes.

He could almost...almost...finally..please him.

It was hell.

But he couldn’t stop it. He just kept lifting his knees and pushing for that last mile. And one day it ended. Just like that. It was like waking up from a terrible nightmare.

And he didn’t know how. One day, Alistair was just gone. No explanation. Just cut off and he was left to figure out how to live again. And he was so relieved that he didn’t dare even think about how that had happened.

Now he knows.

Fuck.

Dean pulls into a grocery store parking lot and thumbs his phone awake. Seeking distraction, he calls Sammy. They manage to shoot the shit for a total of ten minutes before he is unmasked for the terrible state he is in. It’s actually surprising that it took that long. Sammy is losing his touch.

“All right Dean, spill. You promised you would talk to me about stuff after this summer. You promised. If you don't, I will get on a plane. I mean it.”

“It’s about this summer.” Dean stalls after that statement and just lets it hang out there.

“oh, the summer that you didn’t call. The summer that I had to fly back from my vacation to nurse you back to health? The one where you forgot that you are the last family that I have? You scared me to death, Dean. What’s going on? Do I need to tell Jess that I can’t do Christmas with her family? I can cancel my spring semester. Are you OK?”

“Sam...Sammy...slow down! Just. Slow down. I’m fine. Just got sorta caught up again. I was doing OK. And today I just found out. I….” Dean’s voice thins out into a hurt weak sound and he can't finish his sentence.

“Uhh..that guy. The guy I told you about. It...uh...It turns out that he went to jail. That’s what happened. And uh, my friends. They went behind my back and they turned up all this internet shit and they got him arrested. They didn’t bother asking me what I wanted! They just all sat around feeling sorry for me and watching him...uh...and they thought I was some charity case and so they went all “good Samaritan” and did some fucking missionary work and saved my dumb ass.

And how...how am I supposed to…Fuck.” Dean sniffs and wipes away the tears that are pooling on his lashes.

“How am I supposed to even look at them anymore? I can’t.” He blinks and more tears fall onto his cheeks and drip from his chin.

“Good.” Sam says bluntly. “what?” Dean isn’t sure where good would fit into this conversation.

“Good. I’m glad they did that. It's exactly what I would have done. Dean, when have you ever been ok with your friends coming to you and asking to help? Huh? Give me one example. One. Oh wait, there isn’t one. What would you have done if they had come to you and said that they thought you needed help? Trust me, I have been down that road with you before Dean and you suck at taking any help from anyone. Ever.”

“It was my personal business, Sam!” Dean shouts back

“Tell me Dean, are you more angry that they helped you out? Or that you needed help in the first place? huh? This is about all that crap that Dad was always spouting! Winchesters just don’t need help. Big man. Well you needed help, Dean. Suck it up.

Your friends, they care about you. And if you would get over yourself long enough to see it, I bet they don’t feel sorry for you at all. You are the best man I know and they are lucky to be your friend, Dean.

We almost lost you.

I almost lost you.

Hell, if I meet these friends, I am going to buy them all a beer. So cut the crap. Just once, let somebody care about you, ok? Just once. I don’t care who it is that you let in. Just somebody. Because I really can't have another summer like the last one.

You matter.

To me, and to those people that you are so pissed at.”

Dean scrubs his hand over his entire face and blinks for a few seconds of total silence on the line.

“Dean, you still there?”

“Yeah. I was just wondering if Jess is the one that makes you such a bitch lately.”

The weak joke breaks the tension on the phone and the brothers meander from the point and make plans to call during the holiday break.

After he hangs up, Dean mindlessly scrolls through his phone. Flicking his thumb, he lands on a picture of himself and Cas. At the burger place. The selfie is awkward but they both have smiles at the corners of their eyes.

“Let somebody care about you, OK? Just once.”

Cas had given him that burger for his Secret Santa gift. He couldn’t stay away and had to witness his gift being enjoyed.

He had known about Alistair.

That still makes Dean feel like crawling into a hole of shame. It’s the most humiliating thing to imagine Cas knowing that he had starved himself. Driven himself like that. Debased and almost died.

Cas had seen it all.

And wanted to buy him a burger.

Dean snorts. Fuck. Everyone probably wanted to buy him a burger. He looked pathetic for a long time. They probably all talked in the break-room in whispers about how he wasn’t eating.

Fuck.

His entire body burns with shame. How was he going to look at Cas again? Maybe his brother was right but it doesn’t make it go away. He can't go back to joking and teasing and eating burgers when he can’t even face him. He sits for a long while before finally turning over the engine and pulling out of the lot toward home.


	14. Damaged

Cas is just preparing for bed when his phone bleats for attention. Expecting it to be his brother, he almost drops the phone when the screen flashes the picture of himself and Dean at the restaurant. He had forgotten that he had set that photo as his contact screen for his coworker. Why was he calling at eleven thirty at night?

“I’m just a pity fuck then. Huh Cas?” Dean slurs through the line as if they were in the middle of a conversation.

“Dean? What? Are you drunk?”

“Answer the question Cas. It's juss rude. Answer! Pity fuck. Yes. Or no.”

“Dean, you are drunk. Where are you? Are you at home? Do you need a taxi?”

“I'm at 1535 Declan lane. I got my credit card. Wait. That's home. I'm home. And no YOU go to bed. Pity fuck. Yes. Or no.” there is a faint sound of Dean rifling through something.

“Dean I have never fucked you. So no.”

“Can't go to work. Everyone is making some big plans. Big joke. Laughing.”

“Are you ok Dean? What is going on? What happened? Why are you so wasted? We have work tomorrow.”

“I told you. Not going back. Everyone knows.”

“What does everyone know?”

Cas can’t imagine what everyone knows. Maybe about their workplace bathroom hookup? It’s not exactly his favorite idea but its not world shattering if his coworkers figure that out. Maybe Dean isn’t as on board as he seemed for the last two weeks.

The silence on the phone stretches long enough that Cas is pretty sure that Dean has fallen asleep or passed out.

Just as he is about to end the call, there is a startled wakening sound and a name dragging drunkenly over the phone. A name that Cas hadn’t ever wanted to hear from Dean.

“Alistair!”

Then there is an almighty crash and a groan of pain.

“Dean! Fuck! DEAN! Hey. Talk to me. Is Alistair there? What was that crash? DEAN! Are you ok? Shit. Oh shit. DEAN!”

The line goes dead.

Cas tries to do four things at once. Call his brother, get clothes on, picture Dean at the merciless hands of Alistair again, and have a massive coronary.

He succeeds in only two of those things. Imagining the worst and reaching his brother.

The call rings through and Cas blesses every deity that Gabe seems sober and awake.

“Gabe, I need a ride. Hurry! I'll explain on the way!” he is still fumbling with his shirt as every stitch of clothing seems to have come alive and is intent on strangling him.

“You just caught me heading out the door. I’m going to Halos and Horns. I have a date.” Gabriel seems way too calm over the phone. The entire world should be panicking right now.

“Pick me up. It's not too far. I can't wait for a cab. It's an emergency. Please, Gabe.”

By the time Cas pounds up the front porch of the little A-frame house it finally occurs to him that he has no idea if the door is locked. He has no idea if Alistair is inside. He has zero plans. He is wearing pajama pants and a sweater. He doesn't have a weapon or enough clothes on for this weather. He just had to get here. He isn't even sure here is the right place. Drunk people aren't exactly reliable for giving addresses. He remembers that so well from working in pizza delivery. Fuck it. Dean could be hurt. He can't just stand here and waffle about the details. Reaching for the door knob he realises there are keys sticking out of the knob. What the fuck? Dean isn't a careless person. RIght now he is just going to count it as a fortunate lucky mistake. Knocking on the door loudly to announce his presence just in case all of this is some horrible misunderstanding, Cas eases into the narrow entryway. He carefully locks the front door behind himself.

“hello? Dean? DEAN are you here?”

Dean’s heavy leather jacket is draped on a hook in the hallway. It’s an encouraging sign that confirms at least he is in the right house. He touches it in relief. Soothing his frayed nerves with the buttery soft leather.

“Dean! Hello? I'm just here to check on you. Are you ok?”

With no answer coming from inside the house, he ventures further. The entryway opens into a small living room to the left and a kitchen to the right. It looks like a small tornado has hit the kitchen. Obviously Dean had decided to cook at some point. Water is boiling furiously away on the stove and a box of unopened mac n cheese stands forlornly nearby. There is a mixing bowl of uncooked cake mix on the counter that is blasted in flour and broken eggs. The coffee pot is full. An alarmly large bottle of Jack Daniels is empty. There is a broken glass in the sink. A blood stained t shirt on the floor next to a broom.

He turns off the burner beneath the pot of water.

It looked like a minor mishap, broken glass, cut hand. Still it made his heart jump up into his esophagus to strangle him. He had to find him. Now.

“Dean!” he calls again, his voice cracking with worry.

A quick search of the living room only reveals a large vinyl record collection, a modest flat TV and a narrow couch.

There is a set of stairs leading from the living room to a second floor. Without hesitating, Cas swings around the newel and stomps upstairs. He spots the alarming sight of a tipped bookcase in the hallway. It leans forward with its brow on the opposite wall as if it is resting. All of the contents are sprawling in a messy pile and there is no Dean to be found.

“Dean!”

Finally, there is a confused reply.

“Cas?”

It's coming from beyond the mess, so he carefully pushes books and magazines aside and threads through the hallway in the direction of that voice.

Dean is sitting in the frame of a bathroom doorway. His knees pulled up to his face. Arms draped around them. He is shirtless and the knees of his jeans have blood streaks on them.

He squints up at Cas in dazed confusion and wipes another streak of blood into his jeans as he clutches his knee with his cut hand.

“Cas are you an angel?”

The question is such a weird one. Cas stops and they mirror consternation at each other.

“You flew into my house. It's impossible”

“Dean, the front door was unlocked. Your keys were left in the door. It's a good thing they were because you were about to burn your house down.”

“There is a fire?” Dean looks panicked and Cas crouches beside him to touch his bare shoulder.

“There isn't a fire.” Cas soothes with a calming tone. “You left water to boil. What is going on? You scared the crap out of me. Was Alistair here? Did he get out? Is that why you are drunk?”

Dean's brow furrows as if he is trying very hard to follow the conversation. “Alistair. Everybody at work knows.” his face collapses in humiliated sorrow and the pieces click into place for Castiel.

This is what everybody knows. Dean had been answering his question over the phone before the bookcase fell. It wasn't about their workplace handjob. Dean had somehow gleaned that people at work knew about what had happened with Alistair. The realization squeezes Castiel's heart like a fist. There was nothing for Dean to be ashamed of. But here he was curled up small and emptying a bottle of Jack. And worse, he somehow is under the impression that Cas feels sorry for him and is offering sex out of pity. It's a big nasty tangle and Dean is beginning to turn pale. It's probably nausea and it's not the time to straighten all of this shit out.

Easing back onto his feet, Cas sidles past Dean into the small bathroom to gather a towel and flip on the shower. Searching the cabinets, he locates a first aid kit and retrieves a bandage and antibiotic cream for later.

“Cmon gorgeous. You need a shower. You look like you are about to hurl and it might sober you up a bit.”

Leveraging Dean back onto his feet with a powerful flex of his thighs makes him thank whatever bicycling deities there are. Dean isn't a tiny man and urging him into the motions of undressing and stepping into the shower is no easy task. They have to stop once because Dean is sure he is gonna puke. It's a false alarm though and Cas almost wishes he would. It would sober him faster.

Once he is certain that Dean wont crack his head open in the shower, he checks the two bedrooms for Dean's clothes. Although both bedrooms are almost identical, the scent of Deans skin and hair permeates one of the rooms. He wants to push his face into the hanging rack of flannels in the closet. Instead, he rifles through a dresser and tries his best to ignore the soft slip of satin panties in the corner. He had known about these. Dean had almost made him jerk his goddamn dick raw by accidentally flashing red satin one day. Now he feels like the perviest of perverts while snatching a soft t shirt and boxer briefs. His face burns and his cock twitches with interest. For fucks sake. Now? He sighs with frustration and shuts the dresser before he does something stupid. Like touching those panties.

He halfway enters the bathroom to check on Dean and drop the clothes off. He keeps his eyes turned away from the naked silhouette. His voice is too many octaves low as he tells Dean where the clothes are.

Cas escapes downstairs and begins to clean up the mess in the kitchen. His head clears as he works and he listens closely for the footsteps and sounds of Dean dressing. Just in case there is another accident. Once he is sure that Dean has started for his bedroom, Cas follows him and sighs with relief that the man has managed to make it to the bed. He is already half asleep when Cas sits on the bed and reaches for his damaged hand. His glassy drunk eyes watch quietly as the wound is tenderly treated and sealed with the bandage.

“Why did you come here Castiel?” he asks, softly.

“I thought you might be in trouble. I wanted to help.” Cas answers in the same hushed tone.

“You like seeing me weak like this? Fucked up? Did you get rid of him so that you could have a turn at it? You knew what I did for him. Do you want that too? You liked when I was asking. no. begging. You liked when I was begging you. I'm an easy fuck Cas. All you have to do is call me a good boy.” Dean’s eyes glitter with something dark and hurt and cruel. The softness of his voice is completely at odds with the quicksilver plunge of the knife into Castiel's heart.

Cas sucks in a tight breath and his entire being flinches from the blow. He suddenly can't breathe around the hurt and rage that burns beneath his skin.

“Dean Winchester, it is the middle of the fucking night. You are too drunk and I am too angry right now to have this conversation. So go to sleep. I am going to be here when you wake up tomorrow.” his voice shakes with pent up tears as he gently tucks Dean into the covers and exits the bedroom as fast as he can.

Cas is far too furious to sleep even though its 2am. So he begins to clean. Angrily, he rights the bookcase and throws the books onto the shelves. He sort of hopes that it ruins Dean’s rest. Would serve him right. Fucking asshole. But Dean sleeps right through his tantrum. So he furiously scrubs the kitchen. Going beyond the natural comfortable state of cleanliness until the room is startlingly sterile. He scrubs until his arms ache. Its 4am and he has already cried twice. He knew that Dean had been hurt deeply. Never had he imagined what seeing the wide open chasm of pain and raw self hatred would feel like. He hadn't imagined how Dean had turned the knife into himself. He had dug deep with only two sentences and wrecked Cas. Could this even be fixed? Could he ever make this right? Dean needed to heal. Was it too soon?

These questions just circled until he felt that his mind was a writhing mass of doubt and anger. He wanted to be back in that club with Alistair. He wanted to break his knuckles on his face. He wanted to decorate the walls with his blood. He craved the urgent relief of dragging a blade through his skin until the coiling weight of his insides were spilling outside. It was a sick heavy thing to need so much blood. There was an avenging light that had been satisfied with Charlies solution right up until the moment Dean had shown him that scar.

Now it thrummed to murder the sick son of a bitch who had camped on the bright beacon of Dean's soul and smeared it in shit.

He was so angry.

Angry at Dean for thinking that he was pitying or a predator.

Livid that Alistair had twisted Dean up into thinking that bullshit in the first place.

How was he going to fix this?

No easy answer had appeared by the time he collapsed in exhaustion on the living room couch.

He slept finally and didn't even notice the heavy veil of snow that piled outside the door.


	15. Reconciliation

Dean woke feeling better than he thought we would. Honestly, it was just a tightness in his scalp and a warning squirm to his stomach. Not the raging hangover that he frankly, deserved. He lay on his back for a few minutes just letting it catch up to him just in case. Not bad. His mouth tasted like he had french kissed a water buffalo and there was an acidic burn in the back of his throat, but he would survive this. What time was it anyway? Where is his phone? It wasn’t plugged into the jack beside the bed. OK. First things first. Bathroom. Then phone. Then try even harder not to think about the shit that made him drink last night in the first place. 

He found his phone sitting on the bookcase halfway down the hall. The phone has a brand new dent in the corner but to his relief, it is working ok. 1:13pm. Wow. He had slept all morning. There is a group text from Charlie to the staff. Giant storm...snowplows...blah blah...don't come in until before the party. Enjoy the snow day. Good! Everyone was planning a half day anyway, Its no real loss to push that back to this evening’s party. Once he is finished making himself at least partly human with the magic of toothpaste and clean water, he heads down to the kitchen to see if he can’t get some food and coffee. His kitchen looks like its been swapped out by aliens. Its so clean. He hadn’t been a complete slob, but this was some glossy magazine shit. His mind tries to bring up a picture of Cas scrubbing last night. His stomach does a barrel roll and he decides he won't be touching any of those sore spots until he has at least had some food. 

Turning to the living room, aiming for the couch, he almost chokes on his coffee. Cas is on the couch. He is sprawling in what looks like the most uncomfortable position. His legs are too long and his ankles are propped on the armrest at a horrible angle. He is wearing a thick cabled sweater and pajama pants that are twisted and riding up his calves. One arm is flung over his head, dragging the sweater up to bare his stomach and hips. Dean steps closer, drawn in by the oddity of the moment and his own curiosity. Cas has turned his head into his raised arm. His face looks younger and sweeter without his typical serious scowl. That hair looks absolutely no different than it ever does. It is a riotous mess, but paired with the sleeping flush of his face and parted lips, he is beautiful. Dean’s mouth is suddenly feeling dry and he sucks in another sip of coffee to sooth his oral fixation. Continuing his visual inventory of the sleeping man, he eyes the curve of Cas’ hand where it rests just above the hitched sweater. For just a second, he remembers how fucking tight and rough that exact hand had been when it was wrapped around his dick. Instead of hyperventilating, he decides that his eyes better move along. Only his gaze falls off the edges of that sweater onto the mouthwatering stretch of exposed skin there. Cas’ tight stomach moves softly with breath and the slightest spattering of hair traces down into his pajamas. The edge of Castiel’s hipbone is traced out in shadow and holy fuck. With hip bones like that, this guy would be a fucking adonis if you got lucky enough to strip those, (are those pug dogs?)pug dog printed pajamas off him. Pugs with unicorn horns. And wings. Of course, the hottest, most frustrating man in his life is sprawled on his couch, flashing his ridiculous hipbones and being sexy in pug pajama pants. Dean snorts in amusement at the thought.

The soft sound wakes Cas from the admittedly restless sleep he had been attempting. Immediately he startles at the unexpected sight of Dean standing beside the couch in his boxers. “fuck! Holy shit. Dean. You scared me! Anybody ever tell you that it's creepy to be looming over sleeping people?”

Dean quickly turns away in embarrassment. He hopes his face isn't as red as it feels. He was supposed to be mad at his friends. He was supposed to be furious at Cas. Yet here he is, caught off guard, again. His heart is thumping fast and he doesnt wanna toss him out into the snow like he should. 

“I was trying to figure out what was on your pants.” he mumbles around his coffee cup. It's a lame excuse but the best one he could scramble for.

“Figure out what was in my pants?” Cas echoes back, his eyebrows shooting up in disbelief. 

“ON! On...your...is that dogs with wings?” Dean squints at the printed pajamas again.

“oh! Uhm. Its a pug-a-peg-a-corn. A mix between a pug, a pegasus, and a unicorn. His name is Carl. He is from Brooklyn. Its from a podcast I….uh..nevermind.”

Dean looks totally and completely confused by the direction this conversation has taken and the room sinks into silence.

Both of them consider the ludicrous situation and Cas is the first to dissolve into fits of helpless laughter. Dean is still suffering the lingering embarrassment of being caught staring but eventually the infectious mood spreads to him as well. 

Once they have recovered from the wave of hysteria, Dean offers Cas some coffee before heading upstairs to put some pants on. He steps into soft heather grey sweatpants and tries to push away the image of Cas laughing. It’s impossible. He was so much more beautiful today than he had been yesterday or any day before. Surely he hadn't been this goddamn stunning every day at the office! Dean would have noticed. Surely. He had just not noticed the shape of his mouth. The extra night of stubble must have somehow enhanced that face. His eyes haven’t been that blue! He was eager to get back downstairs and look at him again. Just to check. He was supposed to be angry. Somehow, seeing the sleep creased marks on his face and laughing with Cas over coffee had unknotted the gordian tangle that lodged in his chest. He wanted to somehow be over his hurt and embarrassment without actually facing it. He wanted to skip the conversation they should have next and get back to the way they felt before. Could they do that? He wasn't sure, but he couldn't hide upstairs all day. 

The smell of frying bacon greeted him at the bottom of the steps. Epic strains of “Burning Heart” by Survivor rocks from the living room. Cas is dramatically mouthing the lyrics while moving around the kitchen like its his own. It's such a domestic scene that Dean is grinning and joining the fun before he can stop himself. They prepare a giant pile of toast and eggs and bacon and dive into it eagerly. Sitting at the table with them is the conversation that neither of them will be able to ignore much longer. But for now, it's perfect.

The sense of ease and comfort stretches well into the afternoon as neither of them is eager to ruin that bubble of domesticity that has fallen around them. Cas uses Dean’s shower and phone charger. He moves through the little house like he has always been there. Its surprisingly not invasive and spreads a warmth in the space as he straightens and adjusts and cleans things. It can't possibly last all night though, and the noise of the snowplows working through the streets peels back the walls of their isolation. There isn’t much more they can do to distract themselves and no reasons left for Cas to not call a cab. It was time to talk and they both knew it.

“Hey Cas, we need to talk.” Dean invites while choosing a seat at the very end of the sofa. 

Cas silently nods and chooses the other end. He turns his body toward Dean by pushing his back against the arm of the sofa and pulls his pajama clad legs up to curl in the seat. “Ok. Let's talk.” he silently hopes that his voice doesn't sound as nervous as he feels.

“Cas, Charlie told me some stuff that really pissed me off yesterday. I believe her. I have known her a long time and she has always been a straight shooter. So I'm going to ask you if it's true. You gotta be honest with me Cas. I can't...I just can't hear lies about this. I mean it. Ok?” Dean’s face is more blank than Cas has ever seen it before. Dean always carries every thought and feeling right on his expressive face. But right now his expression is drawn into a defensive blankness that feels like an ice wall being placed between them. 

“Of course Dean, I won't lie to you.” Cas answers while his heart wrenches with trepidation. He picks up a throw pillow and cradles it to his chest as if it could soothe the sensation. 

Dean rubs his hands over his face before blinking quickly and forcing his next question out into the waiting silence. “Did you know that I was dating somebody named Alistair?”

“yes.” Cas almost whispers and decides to leave the word alone out there instead of drowning all his nervousness with floods of excuses and explanations that crowd behind his teeth.

“How did you know that Cas? Were you following me? Did you talk to my friends?”

Cas’ eyes widen at that suggestion and he almost shouts “NO! Oh fuck. Uh..No. I just…”

Dean slices right through whatever Cas was about to say, “Then how did you know that, Cas? The internet? It was none of your business!” His voice rises and begins to take on the same angry tone as last night.

Defensively raising his hands, Cas responds quickly. “The gay community is really small here is all! I swear. I didn't intentionally find out at all. Just. My brother is bi and dates all sorts and he dated Alistair for a while. I had seen it before. It was the same. It was just familiar.” his answer grows quieter and dies as Dean stares at him with that stoic expression. 

When Dean considers this answer, he remembers Charlie mentioning the same thing. He had just been so focused on the humiliation that he hadn’t remembered that. Their stories matched up at least. Somebody else had been in the same situation? Alistair had some sick pattern with people? It wasn't just his own private hell? The silence returned with a vengeance as Dean processed this revelation.

“I am sorry, Dean. I never wanted to intrude or embarrass you. I swear. I just. It felt personal. That man hurt somebody I love. My brother has always had an extreme personality. This fucker pushed him so hard. It wrecked our lives for a long time. So when I saw it happening again. It felt personal. Like he was going after somebody else that I...I care about.” Cas runs out of steam and stumbles over this last confession. He inwardly winces at how it sounds tumbling out with this messy conversation.

“This sucks Cas. I don’t really know you. I have my worst moments and my private life and fuck. Even my...sex life just, out there! It’s like that nightmare of being in your underwear in front of everyone, only worst. I can’t even look at you right now! Everyone I pass in the halls at work is probably so busy wondering what the fuck is wrong with me.”

“No! wait. No. Nobody else knows. It’s me and Charlie. That's it.” Cas is wide eyed and desperate to reassure Dean on this point. “I swear. I only ever told Charlie. I wouldn’t. I just needed her to help me with computer shit. I knew some web pages that could get him banned at some places. I wanted him to be cut off from the support of the community. I brought Charlie into it because she really cares about you. I know you are close and she cares. I wouldn’t tell anyone else. I needed to do the right thing and I knew Charlie would make sure I was doing that. If I did it alone, I might have ended up in jail myself. I can’t even describe my feelings about what he did.” Cas feels his voice getting unsteady as he blinks back the wave of emotion that threatens to derail this entire conversation.

Dean’s shoulders relax a tiny bit at that. He had somehow believed the entire office had been in on the great big joke. Ok. It's just Cas and Charlie. That isn’t SO bad. Mostly. Cas is standing right here and they are talking about it and he hasn’t died of complete humiliation. Yet. 

“So, your brother huh?” Dean asks shakily

“Yeah. It was bad. Worse than it was with you.” Cas picks at threads on the pillow with his fingertips, studying them like they have the answer to everything. 

“You really wanted to get that bastard, huh? Is your brother ok?” The question is reluctant because Dean is almost afraid of the answer. What if he isn’t ok and it makes Alistair even worse of a monster? Birds of a feather flock together and Dean had been drawn into Alistair’s games because he liked them. Until he didn’t. It says something about him that he had craved the discipline. 

“Dean. Hey Dean, listen to me. Hey.” Cas can sense Dean spiraling deep into some inward hurt place, so he kneels up on the couch and reaches to touch his shoulder. “Dean, I wanted to, as you say “get that bastard”. It was more than that. It wasn’t just about my brother, Dean. I had already moved past needing revenge for that. I broke his face. It was settled and I figured he wouldn’t come back. Dean, it wasn’t just revenge for my brother. You, are so important to me. I cared about you. It was about you Dean. I couldn’t keep going to work and seeing him taking away more and more of you. It hurt. I just. I had to stop it. I am sorry that it was invasive and personal and makes you feel exposed and hurt. But I’m not sorry I stopped it. I can’t be sorry. I understand if you don’t want to see me anymore. I can step away.” Cas curls back into himself with every word, clutching the pillow tightly and already mapping the route to the door. He would wait for a cab outside. 

“Whoa, Cas. Wait.” This time it is Dean’s hands crossing the distance and reaching to tug shoulder of Castiel’s sweater. “You don't have to go anywhere. I...uh...I asked a question, Cas. Your brother. Is your brother ok?” Dean clings to the change of subject like its a lifeline to keep Cas tethered to the couch with him.

Distracted from the direction of his thoughts by the reminder throws Cas for a second and he flicks his eyes up to meet the swimming soft green of Dean’s gaze. He had forgotten in the last minute how beautiful Dean is, and blushes for a second when he notices all over again. “Gabe. Uh...Gabe is ok. Good. One day at a time. He has an addictive personality and that makes recovering really tough. I am proud of him.” His spiel sounds familiar and rehearsed as if he has thought and said it a thousand times. It reflects the true depth of his relationship and the hits that has taken. You don't remind yourself to love somebody if it is easy all the time. And it is obvious that it hasn’t been easy all of the time. It sounds so much like Sam that it hurts Dean’s chest. This is what loving a flawed person sounds like. Cas is that steady loving light for his brother. No mistaking it. Cas understands what supporting and loving means when life is “one day at a time”. Cas has been there when addiction makes “recovery really tough”. The family of survivors talk like this. The family of victims. 

Dean’s chest aches as he considers how his own brother had limped him through recovery. He imagines Cas in that same role. Pushing Gabe to addiction meetings and therapy appointments. Patiently dealing with dark days and bad attitudes. 

Then, because Dean is a huge needy bitch, he pictures Cas by his side to guide him through those bad days. He imagines Cas tricking him into the calories and calming him to sleep and comforting him with praise and encouragement. His entire being latches onto the knowledge that Cas is that person. The one person in his life that could do that and more. He is so strong. So good. Being with Cas made him feel like he could get better. That he was better. 

Cas sits in the silence and tugs on the pillow thread that he has worked loose. His forehead suddenly seems to have holes being bored into it. He can feel the regard of Dean’s eyes just pressing into his skin and he feels like he might itch if he doesn’t at least glance up. There it is. Dean is openly staring, without any sort of filter or intention in his eyes. He isn’t flirting or joking. He isn’t angry or sad. His eyes are saying “please” and his mouth hangs open softly like a child seeing a christmas tree. It's the pleading innocence of somebody who isn’t hiding or doubting what comes next. His eyes are saying “please” and “I want” and Cas isn’t going to resist another second. 

Before either of them can blink, he is touching Dean. His fingers are sliding around the back of his neck and drawing his waist close. 

“Dean, can I?”

Dean closes the space between their lips with his own, pressing into Cas with so much tenderness and pleading need. He feels so delicate in Cas’ arms. His kiss shares the innocent questions that his eyes had been asking.  _ I am scared but I am asking for this. I need comfort. Please. Don’t leave when I am exposed like this. I can’t ask again if you say no. Please. I need. I stopped believing in good things. You are here. good. So good.  _

“Dean...mmhhh..I wanted.” Cas murmurs around the soft sliding kiss they keep dropping and catching in each other’s mouth. “I couldn’t see you like that….guahhh..sorry. I wanted to be there. Want to take care of you. Want to be there. Always. Mmmfuck. Wait. Hey. Wait.” Cas feels his head spinning with desire but he manages to untangle his tongue from the edge of Dean’s teeth for just a second.

“Dean.” Cas searches the luminous beam of Dean’s eyes. “Do you forgive me for what I did? It hurt you. I never ever wanted that. I swear. Can you forgive me? I’m sorry. I will not expose you like that again. I won't. I promise. Your privacy is important and I will keep it for you. I will talk to you if I am worried about your safety. I won’t screw that up again.” The wild edge of tears threaten those blue blue eyes as he frankly begs for Dean to release him from the pain of guilt.

“yeah, Cas” Dean’s voice is hoarse and deep with his own wrecked feelings. “I believe you. About your reasons. I believe you will talk to me.” He nods and takes a heavy breath. 

Somehow, forgiving Cas has lifted a weight from Dean’s chest. He feels like they have run a marathon or boxed ten rounds. His whole body feels loose and tingles with adrenaline. It was going to be ok. They had made it through this and Cas was still here and they were pressed right up against each other. 

Dean’s lips curve up into a wicked teasing smile and Cas could almost shout with joy at seeing “his” familiar Dean returning with a vengeance. That grin was naughty and fun and promised a very Merry Christmas indeed. 


	16. Other universe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There be smut ahead. So gird your loins. Hide yo kids. Whatever thou must!

Cas was in the middle of exploring that grin when Dean suggested that the couch was way too narrow for the both of them. Well, the way he had actually said it was “mmm Cas, this.. ah...fuck...this couch isn’t big enough for the things I want you to do to me.”

Cas was totally onboard with that sentiment, so he links his fingers with Dean’s and they race upstairs like unruly teens. They had almost lost this moment, so they both reach greedily for each other. Peeling shirts and pants with an edge of desperation. They dive into Dean’s bed in a warm tangle of linked hands and rocking hips. 

Cas feels 

time 

dilating 

to expand 

every sensation 

and so he slows everything down. He presses his warm palms into Dean's chest, breaking their kiss to ease atop him. 

He spreads Dean out beneath him by rubbing his mouth down the meridian of his chest and dragging his nails down the edge of his hips and the inside of his thighs. 

Dean falls back into that sensuous surrendered state so easily. His hands uncurl and his mouth parts on soft hungry sounds. His muscles fall lax and he rolls his hips in one long shiver after another. Cas is once again blown away, by the sweet and helpless way that Dean completely gives himself to the moment. 

Everyone holds some walls up, they have a sexual performance, they flirt and play. It's all good and natural and human. 

Dean doesn’t do this. His wildly pounding heart is completely exposed. He lies totally open and inviting. Sure, his everyday life is performance and charm and walls. Everywhere you look is a barrier. But once he lets you in, he seems to let go completely.

Dean’s eyes are half closed and a flushed heat paints his cheeks. He bites his bottom lip and it draws Cas’ fingers to his mouth. Dean reflexively opens his bitten mouth and sucks the offered fingertips. 

Cas groans at the pulling sensation that tugs from the tips of those fingers to his groin. A responsive shudder rolls through him and he ruts his aching cock into Dean’s hip. 

“So good with your mouth Dean. You are always putting things in your mouth. I have seen the mangled mess you make of your pens. 

Open 

for me. 

Show me your tongue. 

There. 

I'm going to push my fingers deeper and test your gag reflex. 

May I?”

Cas waits for the soft nod before he gently rubs his middle and ring finger down Dean's tongue to the back of his throat. 

He holds there 

very 

still 

and waits 

until there is a spasm and Dean convulses in a single cough. Dean relaxes his throat after that first gag and recovers magnificently. 

“My good boy. There we go. Hold still pet, that's it. Your mouth is so hot. I like it on me. I like watching you put things in your mouth. Maybe you can warm my cock like this. Just hold it in your throat and fight your body over and over when it tries to gag.”

Cas withdraws his fingers slowly and feels like he might cum on the spot.

“So fucking good. Dean you are perfect.  I can feel you  shaking  beneath me.”

Dean’s eyes had sprung with tears as they watered from the effort of wrestling his body into submitting to that gag test. His entire body had tensed so tight and sweat had popped up.  He feels like he is  made of flame  as Cas praises and sucks a tear from his temple.

There it is, 

that overwhelming sense of being taken over.

Used. 

Tested. 

Pushed. 

He immediately craves more and wordlessly begs for it by lifting his chin to bare his throat and spreads his arms and legs wider, opening to Cas.

Cas rewards Dean's invitation by immediately focusing on the warm stretch of his throat. He nuzzles gently and nips with his teeth. This draws Dean’s spread arms up from the mattress to wrap around Cas. He digs both hands into the wild mess of Cas’ hair and whimpers and squirms. 

Cas chuckles softly against Dean's neck and works his body even tighter between those open thighs. He 

unravels 

Dean with tiny sucking bites over his pulse until they both are arching into each other. It's such a heady punch of need that he feels drunk with it. 

Cas braces his palms on either side of Dean’s shoulders and pushes up to survey the mess he has made. And oh what a gorgeous mess it is. Dean's eyes are shining fever bright and framed in damp lashes. His lips are bite swollen and parted as he pants for breath. His throat is ringed with hot little marks that will quickly fade but right now they burn with the pink flush that is sliding down his chest. He is so stunning that Cas feels like he might be hallucinating all of this. _No way, after years of longing, is he pressing Dean Winchester into the mattress and making him moan like this_. 

“earth to Cas.” Dean teases gently and wings a knowing wink up at his captor. Cas had just stopped and was staring so intently that Dean had calmed. Cooled enough to begin running his big palms over Cas’ lean body. Cas blinks those big blue eyes and shakes from his stupor with a small surprised laugh. He hides his face in Dean’s neck.

“I can't believe I am here. You feel so good.” he rumbles in a hoarse whisper against Dean's warm skin.

“I'm glad you are here.” Dean shyly admits. He is relieved that he isn’t looking at Cas directly. His body is capable of letting every single inhibition go. But he isn't so good with speaking such things aloud. It feels right though, when Cas raises to kiss his mouth over and over. 

Dean's wandering hands have found the edge of Cas’ hips and he urges Cas to grind down harder. His fingertips dip down the defined jut of his hip bones and Cas makes a desperate gravel filled moan. So Dean does it again, just to test the results. Pressing his thumbs into the soft wedge of flesh beside his hip bones makes Cas shudder and curse and dig his cock in little jerking thrusts against Dean's own erection. Mmmm interesting. Not only do those hips look good enough to eat, they also seem to trigger Cas into horny noises and such. Good to know.

All of those thoughts fly right out the window in the next few seconds, because Cas has discovered his nipples with tongue and teeth. Its suddenly his turn to be moaning and wildly reaching to grip the sheets while bucking up into Cas. Every wet jab of Cas tongue shoots a raw jolt of pleasure to Dean’s cock. Cas has scooted down Deans body and won't stop rubbing his mouth and fingers over the stiff overstimulated buds. He is relentless and keeps going until Dean’s dick lays flat on his stomach, so hard that his tip leaks only centimeters from his navel. The sensitivity begins to border on pain and finally Dean begins to squirm out from beneath the touch, pushing weakly with his palms at Cas’ shoulders. Cas stops at this sign of discomfort and reaches to cover both aching nipples with his palms. Easing the sensation with warmth and letting Dean calm beneath him. 

“You are so fucking good for me. Your skin tastes so good. So responsive. Dean I want to fuck you. We would have to prepare you though. Are you up for that?” Cas sucks Dean's shoulder while draping his weight fully atop him. 

Dean thinks of the logistics of that, Cas isn’t speaking of the preparation as if he is going to just shoo him to the bathroom. A mental image of Cas pumping his ass full of warm fluid until he is clean flickers and stutters in his mind. “Do you mean, you are going to..uhm..help?”

“mmm” Cas nods as if its so matter-of-fact. “Of course, gorgeous. I want to do that. If that would be ok with you, of course.”

Dean considers it for a long moment. “I haven't...uh… with anybody” 

We will go slow and you tell me if you need me to stop. I am not asking to be there for all of it. Once I have you filled, I will leave and let you finish. I only like the first part. So you aren't going to be jumping into any scat play or anything. Cas scrunches his nose at the notion. 

Dean’s heart threatens to jump right out of his chest as he finds himself agreeing and following Cas into the bathroom. 

The shower is turned on and temperature set and left to warm while Cas kisses him dizzy. Before he can recover from the perfect way that Cas sucks his mouth, he is guided to place his hands on the shower wall and present his ass. 

The shower spray is diverted to the slender wand of the enema attachment. Cas flips the toggle and the wand sprouts streams of water. Cas tests the temperature of the water by letting the stream fall down the crack of Dean's ass. It’s a touch too warm but Dean is a sucker for that edge of pain so he tells Cas that its perfect. 

And it is, 

absolutely 

perfect, 

when Cas rubs his big hands over his trembling body. He lets his thumb fall between Dean's asscheeks and the harsh groan that Dean makes betrays just how perfect. 

Cas closes the toggle and drops the enema wand. He grabs a bottle of lube and slicks his fingers. Dean’s back arches and trembles and he shifts on his feet and Cas rubs his fingertips down the cleft of his ass. Without hesitating, he spreads Dean's flesh with his strong hands and works those clever fingers

to rub 

and tease 

the tiny tight twitching hole there. Deans fingertips scratch at the tiles as Cas rubs his thumbs with hard pressure on each side 

to spread him 

even further. 

Pushing until he gapes the smallest bit before releasing and rubbing over the tight rim. Over and over, he repeats the motion until Dean is ready to start begging. 

Cas retrieves the enema wand and allows hot washes of water to pour over his teased hole. Still rubbing and spreading him open. Then he repeats everything. Dropping the wand, slicking his fingers, and this time sliding his index finger knuckle deep. Dean groans as Cas fingers his ass with those delicate hands. He reaches to stroke his dick, only to have his hands slapped away. 

“uh-uh pet, 

not 

yet. 

I'm just going to open you for this wand. You aren't going to cum while I’m preparing you. Just  hold  on,  be  good for me. Ok?”

Dean’s toes curl as Cas adds a second finger and tugs gently to ease him open. He carefully avoids pumping deep or fucking his fingers in any easy rhythm, so Dean is never given enough to ride his pleasure on. Only teased and eased open while being roundly praised and worshiped by Cas’ completely filthy mouth. 

Cas withdraws his fingers and watches Dean's tight body shudder and his hole gape and clench. He retrieves the wand and lubes the entire shaft of it. The toggle is off so that it is only a shining slender attachment about two fingers wide with holes marching down the side where the water will gush out. Gently, he presses the head of the wand to Dean's hole. He is pleased at how easily it slips in. He seats it fully with one long slide and presses his palm to Deans hip as the man shivers hard and pants with pleasure. It's perfect. Dean is bent at the waist and his gorgeous ass is displayed with the long silver hose of the shower attachment leading down to his plugged ass. It looks absolutely obscene and fucking beautiful. Cas bends to lick all around the place where the hose sinks into Dean and it makes him clench hard around the wand. Perfect. He will need to be holding tight for this next part.

“There we go. You are doing so good. I’m about to turn on the water. You can ask me to go right now if you want me to. Can I keep going Dean?”

It takes Dean a long moment to answer as he works to float up from the place his mind had drifted to. “yes. Don't stop” he croaks and hangs onto the wall for dear life.

Cas grins at how carried away his lover is and this is just prep. Its flattering. Hot. Completely perfect. Gently, he releases the toggle just a tiny bit. Letting a hot trickle of water begin.

The stream of water is so much hotter spraying inside of him and Dean gasps and whimpers to feel the hot splash. Cas checks in again and Dean nods that he can increase the flow.

“hold tight baby. Squeeze the wand hard. I want you to take every drop I put inside you, ok?” 

The flood of heat pours inside Dean and he shakes with the sensation of it. He catches his breath and squeezes tight. Feeling the hard silver wand pulsing out jets as Cas slowly pets his palm down his hip and thighs. Long seconds pass and the sensation begins to change. A fullness begins in his belly. He groans and Cas toggles the water off. 

“starting to feel full? Can you take more? I would really like you to take 

as much 

as you can 

for me.”

Dean licks his lips and rests his forehead against the wall. “More. Please.” he pants and groans as the gush of water resumes. He holds out for almost ten seconds more. Slapping the tile with his palm in wordless begging for it to stop.

Dean is trembling with the effort to hold himself together. Cas calms his frantic whimpering with soothing runs of his hands over all that naked skin. Deans belly is swollen and tight feeling with the bulge of fluid sloshing inside. Cas can feel it when he brushes his fingertips over the soft skin just above his pubic bone. He knows that Dean has reached his limit because he keeps dancing up onto his tiptoes in distress. Its fucking perfect. 

“holy fuck. You took a lot didn’t you? I'm going to let you finish and I will meet you back in bed. You did so fucking good for me. Hurry and clean up.”

Cas exits the bathroom and immediately palms his aching cock. How is he going to last more than two seconds inside all of that perfection? So fucking good. He has only rifled through the bedside tables to find lube and condoms before Dean is already back in the bedroom with the brightest smile on his face and the skimpiest towel around his waist.

Dean is the one that pushes them down to the mattress this time. He rubs his damp face playfully against Cas’ protesting shrieks and kisses the laughter from his mouth.

“That really was fast. You horny boy. How are you feeling? Better?”

“I'm not really sure” Dean answers playfully. “Why don't you feel me Cas?”

Cas bites his shoulder for being cheeky but takes him up on that offer by tugging the towel away and sliding his hands over every inch of skin he can reach. They wind up clinging to each other, slick with sweat and driving into Dean’s tight lubed fist. Cas groans and withdraws, even though his entire body is shaking with the effort to stop rocking his hips. 

“fuck. Dean, if we are going to take advantage of all that hard work we did preparing you, we have to stop that. I’m gonna fucking die.” Cas takes a few seconds to rest his forehead on Dean’s neck. “Do you want to keep going with this or would you like me to fuck you? Because I vote for the latter. I’m a greedy bastard like that.” 

Dean doesn’t answer aloud, he simply rolls onto his stomach and arches his back in one slow flexing invitation that curves his ass into the most pornographic display that Cas has ever witnessed. He almost passes out before he remembers to breathe again. 

“You know exactly what you are doing, don't you? No way are you  _ this _ hot and not know that you are fucking killing me right now. This is payback isn’t it? For being so terrible at choosing christmas presents.”

Dean chuckles and turns his head to look over his shoulder, “you going to sit there talking all night or you gonna get on it?” He smirks and lazily turns back to his perfect pose. 

Cas gets on it. 

Within minutes he has three fingers slick and fucking Dean open while he hides his face in the pillows and whimpers. Cas rotates his wrist and tugs the edge of his rim until the gaping pink hole opens behind his fingers. 

He spits onto that fluttering pucker 

and watches Dean 

shudder 

and groan 

and that wet hole gapes again 

and swallows 

his spit 

and opens even wider. 

He is more than ready but Cas can't get enough of making Dean tremble and shake for him. He isn’t a loud lover, by any stretch of the imagination, but the soft desperate sounds he makes have gained a sharper edge of craving. And because he can’t get enough, Cas reaches

beneath his arching body 

to hold him up and still 

while he drives his fingertip softly over and over his prostate. 

Dean cannot push his hips down to escape the overwhelming

flick flick flick 

of teasing pleasure, he can only cant his hips higher and spread his legs wider and quake and push his face into the pillows. He is more exposed, spread, and used than he has ever been. 

They have been teasing and touching so long that Dean is stripped of any and all inhibitions. He is just about to consider begging, truly crying out for release, when Cas finally withdraws his fingers.

Dean makes the longest sighing groan and trembles hard against the mattress as Cas lifts his hips and presses his thighs closer until they are bracketing Cas’ knees to bear his weight comfortably. Dean has no idea when Cas had time to roll on a condom, but there is the heavy heat of his latex jacketed cock riding the cleft of his ass. The thick crown of his dick rubs the sensitized rim of his entrance and he feels his body

clench clench clench 

and then open for the next brushing press into him. Even with all of their play, Cas has more than just his devastating good looks going for him. 

It's a 

tight 

stretch 

and he is being more careful than he needs to be. 

Dean is already thrusting back impatiently by the time Cas is seated to his satisfaction. He bends over Dean’s back to rub his face against that sweet smelling skin. Dean isn’t quite so patient and demands Cas get a move on, so there isn’t time to wait and hang on to the wild swelling of the orgasm that already threatens.

At this point, if he cums, he has already exceeded every expectation he has had since he laid his hands on Dean. So he gives in to the eager arch of Dean’s spine by leaning back onto his heels and beginning to rub his cock in and out of that tight hole, easing all the way to his rim before pushing back into that wet heat. Dean wraps around his dick like a fist. Over and over, Cas digs his body back into that clenching channel, grits his teeth, and sinks his nails into Dean’s hips. That rising orgasm is suddenly screaming right at the tingling tip of his cock. 

He wants his lover closer, so Cas eases his chest forward and pulls Dean back toward himself. The angle drives another full two inches of heavy thick cock into his already straining stretched body and Dean shouts with surprise at this unexpected deeper thrust. Cas had been holding back and not hilting fully with every heavy push. 

That restraint is all gone now and Cas rocks his tight hips and muscled thighs in a powerful snapping fuck that drives Dean’s breath out in wordless sounds. He is so fucking full. Fucked wide and wet and stuffed until his belly cramps with the aching slam and its so fucking perfect. At least he thought it was perfect, until one beautiful strong fist reaches to grip his cock. Just like before, it isn’t gentle, but Cas drives Dean over the edge with brutal perfection. 

Every muscle including the one that is clenched around Castiel’s cock 

clenches 

tight, 

and 

tighter 

as Dean cums. He is streaming with sweat and flushed pink from his spurting dick to the tips of his ears. 

Cas bites the curve of his neck where it meets his shoulder and fucks him through every last shuddering wave until Dean is lax and pliant in his arms. 

Ignoring the cum smeared sheets beneath them, he releases his grip and lets Dean sink onto his stomach flat on the bed. His entire body is so loose and warm, including his spasming entrance. Cas sprawls atop him and reaches to grip his hands tightly. 

It only takes a few long grinding rolls to dig his swollen prick into that still twitching well fucked hole. The heat is bliss and Cas trembles from head to toe as his body finally winds so tight and then explodes. He screams a short wail of surprised sounding pleasure pain and empties his entire existence into the condom. He flips himself inside out and emerges into an entirely new universe that seems to be built on one principal. Dean is his reason. For everything. 


	17. Merry Christmas

They were late to the party. The largest meeting room had been decked out with catered food and lights. Charlie was a complete mess. She ran back and forth in a whirlwind to try to do everything at once. She greeted Cas and Dean with a harried expression and sweat gathering at her temples. “Hey guys! Wow. I was afraid you wouldn’t show up. Crap, we need two more chairs.”

Dean chuckles. “whoa there. It's supposed to be a party. Slow down. You’re gonna give yourself an aneurysm.”

Charlie just rolls her eyes and darts off on her quest for chairs. Cas and Dean discover the drinks table and of course, Dean harasses Cas about his fruity cocktail. It doesn't phase him in the least. He just leans close and whispers that he is happy to remind Dean how much of a man he really is. It instantly freezes Dean in place and he turns an interesting shade of pink. Somebody notices of course.

“oh my god. Are you two. Like. Together? Holy shit.”

Neither of them answer with anything but a pleased grin and another sip of alcohol.

“it's about damn time!”

That garners a reaction as Dean almost chokes on his drink. “what? What is that supposed to mean?”

But their co worker has already moved away to another conversation.

This little quip might have just gone under the radar except it happened three more times. By then, both men are drunk enough to almost pass out giggling. When one of them manages to stop laughing, the other sets them off again. When they finally wipe the tears from their eyes and get a handle on themselves, every single person in the room is staring. “What!?” Dean exclaims.

“Wow. Just. Wow.” Charlie says, “You two are disgusting”. Everyone in the room agrees heartily and Dean grumps “shaddup” while Cas hides his face in Dean’s shoulder. 

The Secret Santa reveal is a rollicking good time and Kevin joyfully wields his starship Enterprise pizza cutter like a weapon, making Dean question his own gift giving ability. Everyone leans forward in anticipation of Cas’ gift to Dean. It’s apparently the event of the season. So its less than earth shattering when its a framed photograph of them at the burger restaurant. Dean gushes like it's the friggin moon and everyone groans in disgust. Especially when Cas appends his gift with a promise that the “rest of the gift” will have to be collected later. All in all, it's just about everything Charlie had hoped it would be. There is the office romance and the awkward presents and the overindulgence of alcohol. 

Dean is sobering himself for the drive home when Charlie meanders over. Quietly she asks, “Hey, it looks like you worked things out together. That is awesome. I wanted you to be happy, Dean. And him too. Look at him!”

Dean chuckles and watches his boyfriend cackling and crowing over his beer pong win. “He does look happy. Doesn’t he?” 

“Yeah, he does.” Charlie agrees.

“You were right, Charlie. A month ago, I felt like maybe I was alone. All of his gifts were more than just gifts. He cares. About what I like, and what I feel, and if I am ok. He is a good person, Charlie. I don’t think there are a lot of guys like that. I like him a lot.” Dean picks at the label on the water bottle he is sipping from. “I guess I owe you now. Damn it.” He jokes, lightening the mood.

“You sure do! I expect you to join my LARPing team in the spring. And you better bring Cas.” She grins and pokes his arm. “You are a good guy too. You dorks totally deserve each other.”

“Well this dork is tired and I have another Christmas present to open” Dean leers in Cas’ direction and reaches to hug Charlie. “Merry Christmas Charlie” 

“Merry Christmas, Dean. It's going to be a very happy New Year.”

Dean catches Cas into a drunken side hug and gathers their coats and trips out to the Impala. The winter sky is sharp and clear and the snowscape rings with the laughter of their coworkers and friends. He bundles Cas into the car and quickly flips the heater on full blast. Waiting for it to heat, he turns to look at Castiel’s flushed happy face. Without explaining at all, he nods and says, “yeah. It's gonna be a happy New Year.” 

“Mmhmm” Cas mumbles against his kiss, and it is the best gift yet. 


End file.
